AFTER PARADISE 



OWEN MEREDITH 




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AFTER PARADISE 



OR LEGENDS OF EXILE. 



AFTER PARADISE 

OR LEGENDS OF EXILE 
WITH OTHER POEMS 



BY 

ROBERT, EARL OF LYTTON 

M 

(OWEN MEREDITH) 



AUTHOR'S EDITION 



BOSTON 
ESTES & LAURIAT 

1887 



9* 










CONTENTS. 



AFTER PARADISE. 

The Titlark's Nest: A Parable 

Legends of Exile 

First Series : Man and Woman. 

I. — The Legend of Poetry 

II.— The Legend of Music 

III. — The Legend of Love 

IV. — The Legend of the Ideal 

Second Series : Man and Beast. 
I. — The Legend of the Elephant ... 

II. — The Legend of the Ass 

III. — The Legend of the Dead Lambs 

IV. — The Legend of Eve's Jewels 

V. — The Legend of Fable 

L'ENVOI : AD .ESOPUM 



PAGE 

I 

II 



*5 

27 

49 
55 

67 
77 
85 
93 
103 
117 



CONTENTS. 



POEMS. 



PAGE 
125 



Transformations : A Midsummer Night's Dream 

North and South 134 

Athens (1865) 135 

ClNTRA (1868) ... 136 

Sorrento Revisited (1885) J 4^ 

Fragrance: A Spring Ballad 149 

Lines written in Sleep 156 

Prometheia: Freedom of Speech and Press, et oetera : 
Part I 159 



Part II 

Part III 

Part IV 
A Sigh ... 
Necromancy 

Uriel : A Mystery 

Scorn 

Strangers : A Rhapsody ... 
Allegro, Andante, Adagio 



.. 166 

•• 179 

.. 184 

.. 192 

.. 192 

•• 193 

.. 206 

.. 208 

.. 226 



THE TITLARK'S NEST 



A PARABLE. 



THE TITLARK'S NEST. 

A PARABLE. 

" Introite, nam et huic deii sunt." 

Apud Gellium. 



Where o'er his azure birthplace still the smile 
Of sweet Apollo kindles golden hours, 

High on the white peak of a glittering isle 
A ruin'd fane within a wild vine's bowers 

Muffled its marble-pillar'd peristyle ; 

As under curls, that clasp in frolic showers 

A young queen's brow, her antique diadem's 

Stern grandeur hides its immemorial gems. 



B 2 



4 AFTER PARADISE. 

2. 

The place was solitary, and the fane 

Deserted save that where, in saucy scorn 

Of desolation's impotent disdain, 

The revelling leaves and buds and bunches born 

From that wild vine along a roofless lane 

Of mouldering marble columns roanvd, one morn 

A titlark, by past grandeur unopprest, 

Had boldly built her inconspicuous nest. 

3- 

And there where girt by priests and devotees 
A god once gazed upon the suppliant throng, 

Wild foliage waved by every wandering breeze 

Now shelter'd one small bird ; to whose lone song, 

Companioned by no choral minstrelsies, 
An aged shepherd listened all day long. 

Unlearn'd the listener and untaught the lay, 

But blithe were both in their instinctive way. 



THE TITLARK'S NEST 

4- 
Thither once came a traveller who had read 

Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, and had all 
The terms of architecture in his head, 

Apophyge, and plinth, and astragal. 
He, from below, had in its leafy bed 

Spied out the carcass of an antique wall, 
Keen as, from heaven, the hovering condor spies 
Where, in the pampas hid, a dead horse lies. 

5- 

" Pelasgian ? Nought doth old Pausanias say 

About this ruin, and I find no plan 
Or note of it in learned Caylus ; nay, 

I doubt not it was miss'd by Winckelmann. 
The prize is mine. No joke, this hot noon-day, 

To climb yon hill ! But Science leads the van 
Of Enterprise; and now's the chance to shame 
The English Elgin's cheaply-purchased fame. 



6 AFTER PARADISE. 

6. 

" Ho, you there, yonder in the bramble-bush ! " 
The tired explorer to the shepherd cried, 

"A drachma for thy guidance, friend I" But "Hush !" 
The grey-hair'd herdsman of the hills replied. 

Then, pointing upward to the leafage lush 

That rippled round the ruin'd fane, with pride 

He added " Hark, where yonder leaves are swinging, 

The god's voice from his sanctuary singing ! " 

7- 

The traveller laugh'd. " 'Tis a cumica small, 

The Orphea, I surmise, whose note we hear. 
Her nest is haply in yon temple wall. 

An earlier songstress she, and sings more clear, 
Than her small northern cousin whom we call 

Atricapilla Sylvia. But I fear, 
My worthy friend, we must not deem divine 
Each vagrant voice that issues from a shrine." 



THE TITLARK'S NEST 7 

8. 
"Yet," said the old man, with a pensive smile, 

' ; I heard my mother tell when I was young 
(And she, Sir, was a daughter of this isle) 

How everything that's here had once a tongue, 
In the old times. Myself, too, many a while 

Have heard the streamlets singing many a song, 
And, tho' their language was unknown to me, 
The reeds were moved by it, as I could see. 

9- 

" Sir, when I was a boy I pastured here 

My father's goats which now, Sir, are mine own. 
For he is underground this many a year, 

But he had lived his life, and Heaven hath shown 
Much goodness to us, and my children dear 

Are all grown up ; and, musing here alone, 
Oft have I wonder'd c Could this temple break 
Long silence, in what language would it speak ? J 



8 AFTER PARADISE. 

10. 
u Full sure was I that if it spoke to me, 

Whate'er its language, I should understand. 
Then, I was young : and now, tho' old I be, 

When sweet in heaven above the silent land 
That voice I hear, my soul feels glad and free, 

And I am fain to bless the god's command, 
With welcome prompt responding to the voice 
He sends from heaven to bid my heart rejoice. 

ii. 
" Ah, not in vain its message have I heard ! 

And, Sir, tho' it may be, as you aver, 
The voice comes only from a little bird, 

Whose name, indeed, I never heard of, Sir, 
And tho' I doubt not aught by you averr'd, 

For you, Sir, seem a learned traveller, 
Yet still the temple that contains the song 
A temple is, and doth to God belong. 



THE TITLARK'S NEST. 9 

12. 

" And haply to the little bird I hear 

He may have said ' I am myself too high 

For this poor man. Speak to him thou, speak clear, 
And tell him, little bird, that he may lie 

On consecrated ground and have no fear, 
But listen to thy messages, and try 

To understand.' And I have understood, 

For when I listen, Sir, it does me good." 

"Plumph!" said the traveller, "Worthy friend, live long 
Ere yet thy children lay thee underground ! 

Pasture thy goats in peace, and may the song 
Of many a titlark make thee pleasant sound, 

Warbled all day thy cottage eaves among. 

Such simple songs where simple hearts abound 

Fit place may find, but not in halls where hoar 

Poseidon haply held high state of yore." 



io AFTER PARADISE. 

14. 

" Ay, Sir, it is but right," the old shepherd said, 
" The little bird should to the god give place 

Whenever he returns. But where is fled 

The sacred Presence that once deign'd to grace 

These lonesome haunts so long untenanted ? 
Roam where you will, the sanctuaried space 

Is vacant, voiceless, priestless, unpossest, 

Save for the bird that in it builds her nest. 

IS- 
" Yet into this dead temple's heart hath flown 

A voice of life, and this else-silent shrine 
The bird whose nest is built in it hath known 

How to make vocal. Thro' the trembling vine 
Hark, the fresh carol ! Till to claim his own 

The god returns in all his power divine, 
Still unforbidden let me hail the strain 
That haunts with living song the lifeless fane." 



LEGENDS OF EXILE. 



FIRST SERIES. 



MAN AND WOMAN. 



' Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels." 

Psalm viii. 



I. 



THE LEGEND OF POETRY. 



Adam and Eve, cast out of Paradise, 
Wander'd along the wilderness forlorn, 
Till all its unfamiliar sands and skies 
Were one dim solitude without a bourne. 
Then Eve, outwearied, sank upon the ground ; 
And, where she fell, motionless she remain'd. 
Adam had climb'd a little barren mound 
A few steps farther. There he stood, and strain'd 
His backward gaze to the forbidden bound 
Of Eden. Still their banisht lord could see, 
Though faint in fading light, the happy bowers 
Where nevermore his fallen mate and he 
Might roam or rest, renewing griefless hours : 
And Adam groan'd. 



1 8 AFTER PARADISE. 

Meanwhile, unheard, unview'd, 
Jehovah's arm'd Archangel, from the gate 
He had shut forever, adown the solitude 
And darkness of that world all desolate 
The footsteps of the fugitives pursued. 

Sudden he stood by Adam's side, and said, 

" Man, thou hast far to go. It is not good 

To look behind thee. Forward turn thy head ! 

Thither thy way lies." And the man replied 

"I cannot." "What thou canst thou knowest not," 

The Archangel answer'd, " for thou hast not tried. 

But trial is henceforth Man's earthly lot, 

And what he must he can do." Adam cried 

" What must I ? " " Thou hast set aside God's word, 

But canst not," said the Angel, " set aside 

Necessity ; whose bidding, tho' abhorr'd, 

Obey thou must." And i\dam ask'd in awe 



THE LEGEND OF POETRY. 19 

" Is then Necessity another Lord ? " 

The Angel answer'd " Tis another Law." 

"Another Law! But me thy sweeping sword 

Hath left not," Adam mutter'd, " hap what may, 

Another Paradise to forfeit still. 

What if that other Law I disobey ? " 

"Thou canst not," sigh'd the Seraph, " for thy will 

Hath lost its freedom, which was yesterday 

A part of Paradise. For good or ill 

Necessity controls it. Wretch, thou art 

Weary already, and thou fain wouldst sleep, 

Yet sleep thou dost not, tho' thine eyelids smart 

With the unwilling vigil they must keep ; 

'Tis thy necessity to think and wake. 

To-morrow, thou wouldst wake and think. In vain! 

Slumber unwill'd thy thoughts shall overtake, 

And sleep thou shalt, tho' sleep thou wouldst not. Pain 

Thou wouldst avoid, yet pain shall be thy lot. 

c 2 



20 AFTER PARADISE. 

Thou wouldst go forth — Necessity forbids, 

Chains fast thy weakness to one hated spot. 

And on thy shut wish locks her iron lids. 

Thou wouldst know one thing, yet shalt know it not. 

Thou wouldst be ignorant of another thing, 

Yet canst not choose but know it. Unforgot 

To thy reluctant memory shall cling 

What thou wouldst fain forget, forgotten fleet 

From foil'd remembrance on evasive wing 

What thou wouldst fain remember. Change or cheat 

Necessity, thou canst not." 

Shuddering 
Adam crouch'd low at the Archangel's feet, 
And cried " Whate'er I must be, and whate'er 
I can be, aid, O aid me, to forget 
What I no longer may be ! Even this bare 
Inhospitable wilderness might yet 



THE LEGEND OF POETRY. 21 

To unremembering eyes seem all as fair 

As Eden's self, nor should I more repine 

Were I once more unable to compare." 

" Poor wretch," the Angel said, " wouldst thou resign 

All that remains to thee of Paradise ? " 

f Of Paradise is anything still mine ? " 

Sigh'd Adam, and the Angel answer'd " Yes, 

The memory of it." " Thence," he groan'd, "' arise 

My sharpest torments. I should suffer less 

If I could cease to miss what I survive." 

" Wouldst thou the gift, then, of forgetfulness ? " 

The Seraph ask'd. And Adam cried, "Give! give!" 

With looks uplift, that searched the deeps of heaven, 

Silent the Angel stood, till, as it were, 

In response from the source of glory given 

To that seraphic gaze, which was a prayer, 

Reorient thro' the rifted dark, and high 



22 AFTER PARADISE. 

O'er Eden, rose the dawn of such a day 

As nevermore man's mourning eyes shall bless 

With beauty that hath wither'd from his way, 

And gladness that is gone beyond his guess. 

The panting Paradise beneath it lay 

Beatified in the divine caress 

Of its effulgence ; and, with fervid sigh, 

All Eden's folded labyrinths open'd wide 

Abysm within abysm of loveliness. 

Thither the Archangel pointed, and replied: 

" Adam, once more look yonder ! Fix thine eye 

Upon the guarded happiness denied 

To the denial of its guardian law. 

Contemplate thy lost Eden — the last time ! " 

And Adam lifted up his face, and saw 

Far off the bowery lawns and blissful streams 

Of Eden, fair as in his sinless prime, 



THE LEGEND OF POETRY. 23 

And fairer than to love forbidden seems 
The long'd-for face whose lips in dreams requite 
Adoring sighs that, save in passionate dreams, 
Are disallow'd idolatries. Dark night 
Elsewhere above the lifeless waste was spread, 
As o'er a dead face the blindfolding pall. 
" Seest thou thy sinless past ? " the Angel said. 
And Adam moan'd, " All, all ! I see it all, 
And know it mine no more I" 

His helmed head, 
As in obedience to some high command 
Deliver'd to him by no audible word, 
The Archangel bow'd. Then, with decisive hand. 
He seized and drew his formidable sword. 
Thro' night's black bosom burn'd the plunging brand ; 
Two-edged fires, the lightnings of the Lord, 
Flasht from its fervid blade, below, above, 
And, where their brilliance thro' the darkness broke, 



24 AFTER PARADISE. 

Clear from the zenith to the nadir clove 
Man's sunder'd universe. Kx one dread stroke 
The Archangelic sword had hewn in twain 
The substance of Eternity. 

There ran 

The pang and shudder of a fierce surprise 

Thro' Adam's soul \ and then he slept again 

As he had slept before, when he (likewise 

In twain divided — Man and Woman) began 

His double being. 

Upon the night-bound plain, 

In two vast fragments, each a dim surmise, 

Eternity had fallen — one part toward man, 

The other part toward man's lost Paradise. 

The light of Eden by its fall was crost, 

And in its shadow vanisht — save one gleam 

Of faintly-lingering glory that was lost 

In Adam's slumber, and became — A Dream. 



THE LEGEND OF POETRY. 2 

Adam had lost his memory by die stroke 

Of that celestial sword's transfixing flame, 

And so forgot his dream when he awoke. 

Yet did its unrememberd secret claim 

Release from dull oblivion's daily yoke 

In moments rare. He knew not whence they came, 

Nor was it in his power to reinvoke 

Their coming : but at times thro' all his frame 

He felt them, like an inward voice that spoke 

Of things which have on earth no utter'd name ; 

And sometimes like a sudden light they broke 

Upon his darkest hours, and put to shame 

His dull despondency, his fierce unrest, 

His sordid toil, and miserable strife. 

These rare brief moments Adam deem'd his best, 

And call'd them all The Poetry of Life. 



li. 



THE LEGEND OF MUSIC. 



II. 



In that dread instant when Eternity 
Was by the Angel's sword asunder riven, 
There sounded from the starry deep a cry 
That shook the constellated poles of heaven : 

" Elohim ! Elohim ! what hast thou done, 

Whose sword hath hewn Eternity in twain ? 

One part of it is now the Past, and one 

The Future (phantoms both, exempt from pain 

By lifeless unreality alone !) 

And the pang'd Present, like an open wound, 

Between them gapes, lest aught should close again 

What thou hast cloven." 



30 AFTER PARADISE. 

To this poignant sound 
The Seraph, leaning on his sword down-slanted, 
Listen'd, and in compassion or disdain 
Smiled gravely, as he murmur'd " It is well. 
The Reign of Time begins, man's prayer is granted." 

Then loud he call'd to the Abyss of Hell, 

"Stunn'd rebels, rouse your swooning hosts, and rise, 

Tho' thunder-smitten, from the Penal Pit ! 

Time's ravageable realm wide open lies 

For your invasion, and the spoils of it 

To you no more Eternity denies. 

Find in its painful fields your pasture fit, 

Be every pulse of consciousness your prey. 

And chase the panting moment as it flies ! " 

Hell to the invocation answer'd " Yea ! " 

And, pour'd in surge on surge of flame-pulsed cries, 

The fervid rush of her Infernal Powers 



THE LEGEND OF MUSIC. 3 1 

Sounded like roaring fire, tho' sightless they 
As midnight storms. 

" Eternity is dead ! 
And Time, the quivering corpse of it, is ours ! 
And from Eternity's death-wound, 1 ' they said, 
" Fast, fast, the life- drops fall — days, minutes, hours, 
Drop after drop, with world on world, away — 
Into the final nothingness at last ! 
To-day sinks swooning into yesterday, 
The future disappears into the past. 
Eternity lies lost in what hath been 
And is no more, or in what is not yet ; 
For all the rest is but a sigh between 
A hovering fear and a forlorn regret. 
And every moment but begins in vain 
A world that is with every moment ended ; 
For broken is Eternity in twain, 
And never shall Eternity be mended." 



32 AFTER PARADISE. 

This sullen poean waked, where'er it went 

Around the rolling world, responsive sounds 

Of wrath and pain ; as if all passions pent 

In some titanic soul had burst the bounds 

Of individuality, and blent 

Their personal essence with the mindless might 

Of universal forces. First, there came 

Ominous suspirations, tremours slight 

Of sleepy terror, from the shuddering pores 

And joints and sockets of earth's giant frame ; 

Anon, Behemoth, bellowing, with fierce roars 

Shook all his chains. The mountains, rack'd and 

pang'd 
By earthquake, thunder'd from their fiery cores ; 
From smitten crag to crag the cataracts clang'd ; 
The sharp rain hiss'd ; the ocean howl'd ; the shores 
Shriek'd ; and the woods tumultously twang'd 
Their wailing harps. But what was felt and heard 



THE LEGEND OF MUSIC. 33 

Thro' all that uproar's dissonant hurricane 

Was not the inarticulate noise alone 

Of winds and waves and woods and mountains stirr'd 

To screaming storm \ there was a mystic strain 

Of spiritual agony, a tone 

Of conscious torment, mingled with the train 

Of those unconscious sounds, — the personal moan 

Of some invisible being's passionate pain. 

Wild as the roar of an uprooted world 

Wrench'd from its orbit, round the Dream of Man 

This swarm of demon discords roll'd and swirPd. 

Thro' Adam's slumber, as it hurtled by, 

Its sounds were scatter'd ; and his dream began 

Dimly to shape beneath his sleep-shut eye 

Weird wavering images that were, or seem'd, 

The echoes of those sounds made visible. 

So that to Adam's soul the dream he dream'd 

D 



34 AFTER PARADISE. 

Was even as if on some vast curtain fell 
Troops of stupendous shadows in the glare 
Shed o'er it from a mighty furnace, lit 
Behind the back of one who, to his chair 
Fast chain'd, with wistful eyes peruses it, 
Wondering what sort of unseen beings are those 
Whose phantoms thro' the glory come and go : 
For of them nothing more the watcher knows 
Than the huge shadows they, in passing, throw 
Athwart the lurid curtain • nor whence flows 
The light those shadows darken, doth he know.* 

Still smiled the Seraph. Slow, in circuit wide, 
Around the sphere of Adam's dream he drew 

The solemn splendours of his sword, and cried 

" Thus far, no farther ! " The Infernal Crew 

In vain to storm that aery circle tried, 

* Plato. — Republic. Book vii. 



THE LEGEND OF MUSIC. 35 

And round it hoarse their grovelling hubbub grew, 

Reluctantly beginning to subside 

In sullen howls and stifled bellowings. 

Then cried the Angel, " Waken, also, you 

That slumber in the silence of sweet things, 

Voices of Consolation ! and pursue 

From hour to hour with your fond welcomings 

That promise fair the fleeting hours renew ! 

Come hither from the hidden heavens that are 

Your homes on earth ! Come, with the south winds, 

hither 

From rosy kingdoms of the Vesper Star ! 

Come, with the sunrise, from the golden ether ! 

Come with the cushat's goodnight coo, from bowers 

Bathed in the tender dews of eventide, 

Or with the hymn that to the matin hours 

The laverock sings in glory unespied ! 

D 2 



36 AFTER PARADISE. 

Ripple light music of the restless breeze 

Thro' murmurous haunts of sylvan oracles, 

And loose the secrets lisp'd by summer seas 

Into the husht pink ears of blushing shells ! 

Come, with remember'd sounds of warbling stream, 

And whispering bough, from woodland cloisters ! 

Come, 
Consolers ! Enter here, and let the Dream 
That Man is dreaming be henceforth your home ! " 

To this appeal the answer linger'd long, 
And not a sound upon the darkness stirr'd 
Save the faint moanings of the Demon Throng. 
But a strange note, not theirs, at length was heard, 
A single timorous note of distant song, 
Like the first chirrup of a callow bird. 
Then, one by one, from here and there, arose 
Clear in the far-off stillness of the night 



THE LEGEND OF MUSIC. 37 

(As from the bosom of the twilight grows 

Star after star) a multitude of light 

But thrilling tones, a choral harmony 

Of silvery voices in symphonious scale ; 

Whose heavenward anthem peaPd from sky to sky, 

As " Hail ! " they sang, " Benignant Elohim, hail ! 

The living soul of dead Eternity 

Thy rescuing sword hath free'd. From its dark prison 

Released at last, on pinions glorious 

Behold, that radiant Spirit is now arisen ! 

And hark, how sweet the song it sings to us ! 

How sweet the song, how fair the face ! for fled 

The hovering frown ere while its aspect wore, 

And lo, the frigid features of the dead 

Are flusht with spiritual life ! No more 

Those eyes are cold, no more those lips are dumb, 

And * Fear no more,' they sing, ' to gaze on me ! 

Ye call'd me Fate when I was frozen numb 



38 AFTER PARADISE. 

In the cold silence of Eternity, 

And then ye fear'd me : but my living home 

Henceforth is in the hearts of all who live. 

Fear me no more, then, for to you I come 

With an eternal gift that shall survive 

Fate's despot rule o'er Time's brief horoscope : 

Eternity is still the gift I give 

To all who trust me, and my name is Hope/'' 

And " Ave ! ave ! " sang the Voices. " Thee 
YVe welcome, holy Hope, that from afar 
Dost bring the promise of sweet things to be, 
Forever sweeter than all things that are ! 
Born flying, thy fair flight thou canst not stop, 
But into the sad hearts it leaves behind 
Thou dost, in passing, from thy pinions drop 
One spotless plume that, cherisht, keeps in mind 
The dear remembrance of its passage. We, 



THE LEGEND OF MUSIC. 39 

What can we give thee in return for this ? 

Take at their best, to save them, take with thee 

Our sweetest joys, our holiest hours ; whose bliss, 

To thy far kingdom borne away, shall be 

Better and brighter, holier still, and higher ! 

Take also, Spirit of Eternity, 

What Time made ours, to make it thine — Desire ! " 

Closer and clearer the sweet Voices grew, 

Borne floating on their own song's rhythmic stream, 

Flutter'd round Adam's slumber, downward flew, 

And settled in the bosom of his dream. 

" Rest there, Consolers ! " the Archangel said, 

" And you, Disturbers, strive as you have striven. 

And thou — dream on, poor Dreamer!" 

Then he spread 
His spacious pinions, and return'd to heaven. 



4Q AFTER PARADISE. 

Out of the depths of Adam's dream, and clear 
All round it, those Consoling Voices pour'd 
Pure strains of silver sound, that fill'd the sphere 
Traced by the circuit of the Angel's sword. 
The Demon Powers, resentful, roused again 
Their turbulent cohorts to the overthrow 
Of this melodious bulwark, but in vain ; 
For there Hell's surges broke, and hoarse below 
Roll'd in tumultuary undertones 
Their weltering waves of passion and of pain, 
Goaded and groaning, as the smit sea groans 
When the storm's lash is on its livid mane. 

Those sounds were heard in Heaven ; and, down the 

light 
Of all the listening stars, celestial streams 
Of song flow'd, mingling with the troubled flight 
Of their fierce tones — as, while the torrent screams, 



THE LEGEND OF MUSIC. 41 

The calm moon, shining thro' a cloudless night, 
Belts his tost bosom with her tranquil beams. 

And all these Voices, with the sounds that were 
Their instrumental slaves, — the Voices sweet 
Of Man's Consolers, hymning praise and prayer, 
The Voices of the Passions of the Pit, 
Earth's dread disturbers, clarions of despair, 
And the pure Voices of the Stars— contending 
With one another, pour'd the importunate tide 
Of their sonorous strife, in strains ascending 
Beyond the visible spheres, to where it sigh'd 
About the elemental boundary wall 
Which never, to the other unseen side, 
The swarming senses that man's soul enthral 
May overpass. For shrouded there, serene 
And irresponsive to the strife of all 
The worlds of passion and of sense— unseen, 



42 AFTER PARADISE. 

Unheard — He dwells, Who is, and wills, and knows. 
And there, its clamour calm'd, its vehement play 
Of contradictions quench'd in the repose 
Of a sublime accord whose spacious sway 
Husht its wild course to an harmonious close, 
Slowly the sounding tumult died away. 

So, when all storms are spent, and Ocean's sleep 

Leviathan's loud voice invades no more, 

The wearied winds into the silent deep 

Drop the last echoes of his dying roar, 

And fold their heavy wings, and faintly creep 

To rest on some lone island's desert shore ; 

Where the huge billows in low waves subside, 

And the low waves in rippling shallows cease, 

While the lull'd halcyon on the slumbrous tide 

Broods, and the breathing stillness whispers " Peace!" 

* Ht Hr ' * * * 



THE LEGEND OF MUSIC. 43 

When Adam waked, the sounds that in his dream 

Dream-woven forms had worn still haunted him. 

Not only to have heard them did he seem, 

But even to have seen them, in a dim 

Indefinite world that of life's earthly scheme 

The phantom protoplast appear'd. For there 

Some bliss beyond possession was the prize 

Relentless wrestlers strove to seize or share ; 

And o'er a battle-field of boundless size 

Hope and Desire with Terror and Despair, 

And Love and Faith with Hate and Doubt, contended ; 

Importunately rolling to and fro, 

In restless contradiction never ended, 

A Yes reverberated by a No. 

Infinite longing, infinite resistance, 

Infinite turmoil ! gaining now, now losing, 

And then again with passionate persistance 

Speeding the clamorous chase thro' vast, confusing, 



44 AFTER PARADISE. 

Inextricable mazes ; but still ever, 
Beyond the strife of discords and the cry 
Of conflict, with inveterate endeavour, 
Tending towards a far off harmony. 

And music was the name the dreamer gave 

To that dream-world's mysterious sounds. In vain, 

However, for long years did Adam crave 

To hear, in this world, that world's sounds again. 

And everywhere on earth he sought to find 

Or fashion images that might express 

The echoes of them lingering in his mind, 

But nought resembled their mysteriousness. 

His sons grew up. Memorial words they wrote 
On sun-dried river-reeds in cunning rhymes, 
Or graved them on the rocks, that men might note 
Who went before them in the after times. 



THE LEGEND OF MUSIC. 45 

He praised their scripture, but he shook his head. 

fi The higher language still lies out of reach, 

And sweet your rhymes, my sons ; but, ah ! " he said 

" They are not music, only sweeter speech." 

His sons took clay, and kneaded it with skill 

Into the images of beasts, and men, 

And gods. But " Music," Adam murmur'd still 

" In form alone I find not." Colour then 

To form they added — colour squeezed and ground 

From herbs and earths — and pictures rich they wrought 

Of man, his doings, and the world around. 

But not in these was found what Adam sought. 

" Things seen and known," he said, "they mimic well, 

But all things known and seen are, I surmise, 

Themselves but pictures of invisible, 

Or echoes of unheard, infinities. 

Definite are words, forms, and colours, each : 

Music alone is infinite." 



46 AFTER PARADISE. 

And none 
Of Adam's offspring understood that speech, 
Save Jubal only. Jubal was the son 
Of Lamech, whose progenitor was Cain. 
His life's ancestral consciousness of death 
Stretch'd each sensation to a finer strain ; 
Into his listening ear earth's lightest breath 
An infinite mystery breathed ; in every sound 
That mystery sent a message to his soul ; 
Nor could he rest till definite means he found 
Its messengers to summon and control. 
And what he sought by wistful ways unnumberd, 
Searching, at last he found in things where long 
Had Music on the breast of Silence slumber'd, 
Waiting his summons to awake and throng 
The bronzen tubes he wrought with stops and vents, 
Or shells with silver lute-strings overlaid. 



THE LEGEND OF MUSIC. 47 

When Jubal play'd upon these instruments 
A visionary transport, as he play'd, 
Rose in each listener and reveal'd to him 
The beauty and the bliss of Paradise, 
The songs and splendours of the Seraphim. 

Albeit these transports from a mere device 
Of wind-blown pipes in order ranged arose, 
Or strings that, smitten, render'd response sharp. 

And Jubal was the father of all those 
Whose hand is on the organ and the harp. 



III. 



THE LEGEND OF LOVE. 



III. 



Eve had heard all, but nothing had she seen : 
For, ere the Archangel's sword was drawn, dividing 
The oneness of Eternity, between 
The gates of Eden fraudulently gliding, 
Athwart the wilderness the Snake slid near. 
And, where beneath the weight of one day's ill 
Fallen she lay, into the woman's ear 
He whisper'd, " Look not ! utter not ! lie still ! " 
Eve heard, and at his bidding still she lay, 
Nor look'd, nor utter'd. 

In the woman's eyes 
Thus linger'd a reflection of what they 

E 2 



52 AFTER PARADISE. 

Last look'd on ere she closed them — Paradise. 
For all the Archangel's weapon shore away 
From Man's perception was what lay before 
The gaze of Adam when that sword's sharp ray 
(Rending his cloven consciousness in twain) 
Parted the Present from the Past. But o'er 
The loveliness that in their looks had lain 
When last on Eden from afar she gazed, 
The lids of Eve were fallen ere (for bane 
Or blessing) Adam's granted prayer erased 
For ever from the records of his brain 
Each memory of Paradise, 

And there, 
In Eve's shut eyes whate'er on earth is left 
Of Eden — faint reflections of it, fair 
Fallacious phantoms of a bliss bereft 
Of all reality — escaped the stroke 



THE LEGEND OF LOVE. 53 

That from remembrance all the rest dispelPd. 
So Adam in Eve's eyes, when he awoke, 
Vague semblances of Paradise beheld ; 
And that lost gleam of Eden's light that still 
Dreamlike and dim in his own being dwelt 
Responded to them with a mystic thrill, 
Tho' Adam understood not what he felt. 

And still Eve's daughters in their looks retain 
Those mirror'd mockeries their mother's eyes 
Bequeath'd them, tho' the Paradise they feign 
Is now a long-forbidden Paradise. 
Reveal'd in Woman's gaze Man seems to see 
The wisht-for Eden he hath lost. He deems 
That Eden still in Woman's self must be, 
And he would fain re-enter it. His dreams 
Are kindled, by the mystic light that lies 
In these sweet looks, to fervid wish fulness ; 



54 AFTER PARADISE. 

And, missing what he ne'er hath known, he sighs 
For what, itself, is but a sigh — the bliss 
Which there he seeks, and there is lost again. 

No more, O nevermore, those steps of his, 
Whose progress is but a progressive pain, 
The Paradise they seek may reach and rove ! 
Yet still the search is sweet, albeit in vain ; 
It lasts for ever, and men call it Love. 



IV. 



THE LEGEND OF THE IDEAL. 



IV. 



When, at the archangelic bidding (blest 

With one brief vision of his happy past 

In all the lost delights of Eden drest) 

Adam on Paradise had look'd his last, 

There every form of loveliness beloved 

Whose beauty, dear to his adoring eye, 

Had breathed delight thro' all the haunts of yore, 

And clothed in gladness all the days gone by, 

The man beheld, save one. 

For Eve no more 
Among the abandon'd bowers of Eden moved. 
Eden was Eveless. 



5S AFTER PARADISE. 

Thus, Man's memory 
Of Woman as in Paradise she was 
The archangelic sword had not transfixt. 
This memory made in Adam's mind, alas, 
A visionary image, vaguely mixt 
With that stray glimpse of Eden's light that fell 
Into his slumber, and became a dream, 
The dream of Adam's life. And there, too well 
Remember'd, with her beauty's phantom gleam 
Mocking him, moved the Eve of Paradise ; 
Immeasurably fairer than the Eve 
That walk'd by Adam's side with sullen sighs 
And faded cheek — condemn'd, like him, to grieve 
And to grow old ; like him, to brave the 

bleakness 
Of life's long desert ; and, with him, to share 
The weight of many a burden, borne in meekness 
Or borne in bitterness, still hard to bear ; 



THE LEGEND OF THE IDEAL. 59 

An earthly woman, with a woman's weakness, 
A woman's faults. 

That phantom, faultless fair, 
(The unforgotten Eve of Paradise, 
Beautiful as he first beheld her there, 
Ere any tear had dimm'd her glorious eyes) 
Long after Paradise itself had been 
By him forgotten, haunted Adam's gaze. 
And Adam made comparison between 
The faithful partner of his faultful days, 
Who stray 'd, and sinn'd, and suffer'd by his side, 
And that imagined woman. With a sigh, 
Her unattainable beauty, when he died, 
Adam bequeath'd to his posterity, 
Who call'd it The Ideal. 

And Mankind 
Still cherish it, and still it cheats them all. 
For, with the Ideal Woman in his mind, 



60 AFTER PARADISE. 

Fair as she was in Eden ere the Fall, 
Still each doth discontentedly compare 
The sad associate of his earthly lot ; 
And still the Earthly Woman seems less fair 
Than her ideal image unforgot. 



And Adam slept and dream'd and waked again 
From day to day, from age to age. Apace 
Time trod his self- repeating path. To Men 
Man grew, and Adam became Adam's Race. 

The Race of Adam, by his granted prayer 
Born as it was oblivious of life's source, 
Went onward, lighted only here and there 
And now and then, along its eyeless course, 
By visionary flashes brief and rare 
Of unexplain'd remembrance, that appear' d 



THE LEGEND OF THE IDEAL. 61 

Vague prescience. For the goal whereto Man goes 
Is his recover'd starting-point — tho', rear'd 
In a profound forgetfulness, he knows 
No longer whence or whither winds the track 
His steps have entered, and so lives like those 
Who, dreaming, dream not that sleep leads at last 
To waking, that to wake is to come back, 
And that what seems the Future is the Past. 

But round that Ghost of Human Loveliness 

Which over Human Life's unlovely way 

Hover'd afar, evading the caress 

It still invoked, the reminiscent ray 

Of Eden's glory (lost in Adam's Dream 

And mingled with his soul) so shone and glow'd, 

That on Man's spirit the reflected gleam 

Of its divine effulgence oft bestow'd 

A supersensuous potency of sight, 



62 AFTER PARADISE. 

Piercing, without an effort of his will, 

The Universal Veil that dims the light 

Of Universal Truth. A teeming thrill 

Of recognition thro' his senses ran 

From things that power reveal'd to him : and he 

To Nature cried, " Behold thy missing plan ! 

For is not this what thou hast tried to be ? " 

Whereto, from all her conscious deeps, to Man 

Nature responded, " Yes ! " 

In toil and pain 
At other times, by other ways, Man's wits 
Search after knowledge, but can ne'er attain 
The flying point that on before him flits. 
For he is as a voyager in vain 
Sailing towards horizons that recede 
From phantom frontier lines of sky and main, 
With furtive motion measured by the speed 
Of their pursuer. But wherever shines 



THE LEGEND OF THE IDEAL. 63 

That sudden ray of reminiscence rare, 

There, and there only, the convergent lines 

Of the orb'd Universe shut fast, and there 

Man's knowledge rests, untravell'd, at the goal. 

P'or, be it ne'er so trivial, ne'er so mean, 

The one becomes the All, the part the Whole, 

When, thro' them both, what each conceal'd is seen. 

And age by age, man after man essaying 

To fo for endless worship and delight, 

In shrines of permanence for ever staying, 

These gleams of truth for ever taking flight, 

Men fashion'd forth new forms of Time and Space, 

Idealising both. The work they wrought 

In Space was Beauty, and in Time 'twas Grace. 

These two ideals everywhere they sought \ 

But the ideal human form and face 

Were still the fairest, still the loveliest. 



64 AFTER PARADISE. 

And still thro' human action, human thought, 
And most of all thro' human love, men's quest 
With fondest fervour roams to find the sphere 
Of that Ideal World wherein the part 
Includes the Whole, the one the All. For there 
Men are to Man transformed, and life to Art. 



SECOND SERIES. 



MAN AND BEAST. 



" Thou hast put all things under his feet : all sheep and oxen, 
yea, and the beasts of the field." 

Psalm viii. 



THE LEGEND OF THE ELEPHANT, 



F 2 






I. 



One day when Adam, as he dug the ground, 
Lifted his forehead to wipe off the sweat 
That dript upon his labour, gazing round 
He saw (and at that sight his fear was great) 
A mountain moving toward him. 

Sore afraid, 
Adam fell prostrate and began to pray. 
For every time that Adam fear'd he pray'd, 
And every thing he fear'd he worshipt. Grey 
And great, this formidable mountain made 



70 AFTER PARADISE. 

Gravely along the plain its gradual way, 
Till over Adam hover'd its huge shade. 
Then, in a language lost for ever and aye, 
The Mountain to the Man, reproachful, said — 
"Dost thou not know me, Adam?" 

"Mountain, nay, 7 
The Man replied, "nor did I ever see 
A mountain move, as thou dost. Yesterday 
I met a mountain, but 'twas unlike thee, 
Far larger, and it lay athwart my track, 
Nor moved altho' I bent to it my knee, 
So on I pass'd over the mountain's back. 
AYas that a sin ? So many sins there be ! 
And art thou come to punish it, alack, 
By marching on mine own back over me ?" 

" Adam,*' the Mountain answered him, " arise ! 



THE LEGEND OF THE ELEPHANT. 71 

Not at my feet thy place is. Whence this dread ? 

Alas, when we were still in Paradise 

Fast friends were we." But Adam hung his head, 

And mutter'd, " Friends ? I know not what that is. 

Why dost thou persecute me, and pursue ? 

Is Paradise a wilderness like this ? 

I know it not, and thee I never knew." 

" Well didst thou know me once, when we were there," 

The Mountain answer'd, " nor canst thou deny 

'Twas thou who gavest me the name I bear." 

But Adam, crouching, cried, "It was not I! 

I never gave thee anything at all. 

What wouldst thou? worship? sacrifice? roots? grain? 

Take, and begone ! Mountain, my store is small." 

And sullenly the savage turn'd again 
To the hard labour of his daily lot. 



72 AFTER PARADISE. 

By this the pitying Elephant perceived 

That Adam in the desert had forgot 

His happier birthplace. The good beast was grieved ; 

And "Those,' 7 he said, "whom thou rememb'rest not 

Remember thee. We could not live bereaved 

Of thy loved presence, and from end to end 

Of Eden sought thee. When thou didst not come 

We mourn'd thee, missing our great human friend, 

And wondering what withheld him from his home. 

I think the fervour of our fond distress 

Melted the battlements of Paradise. 

They fell, and forth into the wilderness 

W T e came to find thee. For who else is wise 

As thou art? and we hold thee great above 

Our greatest. Why hast thou forsaken us 

For this drear desert ? Was not Eden best ? 

Unsweet the region thou hast chosen thus ! 

Yet less forlorn than loss of human love 



THE LEGEND OF THE ELEPHANT. 

Hath left the bowers by love in Eden blest. 
So where thou dwellest shall our dwelling be, 
Since joy from Eden went when thou wert gone, 
And where thou goest we will go with thee. 
To tell thee this the others sent me on." 

Adam look'd up alarnrd, and trembling cried, 
" What others ? Then I am indeed undone ! 
More Elephants like thee?" The beast replied, 
" Alas, hast thou forgotten everyone 
Of thine old followers, the blithe beasts that were 
Thy folk in Paradise ? which for thy sake 
We have abandon'd, and are come to share 
Thy labour, and near thine our lodging make. 
For Man completes us all, whatever we be, 
And to his service faithfully we pledge 
Our several forces. Leaves unto the tree 
They garment, feathers to the wing they fledge, 



74 AFTER PARADISE. 

Wings to the bird they bear, and hands to thee, 
Belong not more than we for Man were made. 
So if thou sufferest we will suffer too, 
And if thou toilest we thy toil will aid, 
And we will be thy loving servants true, 
And thou shalt be our master." 

Adam said 
Nothing. A mist that, melting, turn'd to dew 
Was in his eyes. He could not speak a word. 
That wretched savage grovelling in the dust, 
W 7 hose rebel will had disobey'd the Lord, 
Whose coward heart had lost both love and trust, 
Whose dull despair had from his blinded eye 
Effaced the Past, and to the Present left 
Nothing but degradation utterly 
Of nobler reminiscences bereft, 
What could he answer ? 



THE LEGEND OF THE ELEPHANT. 75 

Nothing did he say ; 
But sank down silent on the desert earth, 
And, sinking, flung the rough-hewn flint away, 
Wherewith he had been digging its hard dearth. 
Then closer to the gentle beast he crept, 
And hid his face between Ins hands, and wept. 



II. 



THE LEGEND OF THE ASS. 



II. 



The Elephant then lifted up on high 

His waving trunk, and trumpeted a clear 

Sonorous summons. With responsive cry 

To that glad signal, all the beasts drew near, 

And stood round Adam who was weeping still. 

Not one faint word of welcome did he say ; 

But all to comfort him. employ'd their skill, 

And each beast gave him some good gift. For they, 

When forth from Paradise they went to find 

Its unforgotten lord, had brought away 



80 AFTER PARADISE. 

As many of the treasures left behind 
By Man as each could carry. 

So that day 
(Thanks to the beasts, who had preserved them) he 
Some precious fragments of himself at length 
Recover'd, and became in some degree 
Human again. Proud consciousness of strength 
The Lion gave him. Honesty of heart 
The Dog. A vigilance that's never dull 
The Lynx bestow'd. The Beaver brought him art, 
The Eagle aspiration. Tenderness 
The Dove contributed, the Elephant 
Benign sagacity, the Fox address. 
He gain'd a sturdy courage from the Bull : 
And, all combining to supply Man's want, 
Each beast and bird in tribute bountiful, 
Gave Adam something he had lacked before. 



THE LEGEND OF THE ASS. 81 

He took whate'er they gave him, and began, 
As gift by gift he gather'd up the store, 
Slowly to feel himself once more a man. 

One beast there was who let the others pass, 

Each with his tributary offering, 

Before him, patiently. It was the Ass. 

And when his turn came some good gift to bring, 

He seem'd to look for something in the grass, 

But did not offer Adam anything. 

Caressingly, like an importunate child, 
Adam approach'd the Ass, whose shaggy head 
He fondled. " Gentle are thy looks and mild, 
Hast thou not brought me any gift ? " he said. 
The Ass replied, " My gift is all unfit 
To offer thee." Adam was vext, and frown'd. 
The Ass resumed " I am ashamed of it, 



82 AFTER PARADISE. 

Although in Paradise this gift I found. 
No other beast to take it had a mind, 
And if I had not pick'd it from the ground 
I think it would have there been left behind." 

The Man heard this not wholly without shame ; 
But still he answer'd from a greedy heart, 
"No matter ! give it to me, all the same." 

Then said the Ass, " If of a mind thou art 
To share with me mine all, I do but claim 
To keep a portion of it. Choose thy part " 
And in two parts he portion'd it. But those 
Two parts appear'd unequal. With the zest 
Of selfishness, Man, naturally, chose 
The biggest, thinking it must be the best. 

But Adam, as his wont it was, chose wrono: 



THE LEGEND OF THE ASS. S3 

For what the Ass (with a prophetic sense 

Perchance of his own need of it ere long) 

Had saved from Eden was Benevolence. 

When thus partition'd between Man and Beast, 

Benevolence its primal beauty lost ; 

And Adam's portion proved to be the least 

Benignant, tho' he fancied it the most. 

This fraction of Benevolence began, 

When mingled with Man's character, alas, 

To be Stupidity ; and, scorn'd by Man, 

Tis Patience that has rested with the Ass. 



G 2 



III. 



THE LEGEND OF THE DEAD LAMBS. 



III. 



Death, tho' already in the world, as yet 
Had only tried his timorous tooth to whet 
On grass and leaves. But he began to grow 
Greedier, greater, and resolved to know 
The taste of stronger food than such light fare. 
To feed on human flesh he did not dare, 
Till many a meaner meal had slowly given 
The young destroyer strength to vanquish even 
His restless rival in destruction, Man. 
Meanwhile, on lesser victims he began 
To test his power : and in a cold Spring night 



88 AFTER PARADISE. 

Two weanling Lambs first perish'd from his bite. 
The bleatings of their dam at break of day 
Drew to the spot where her dead Lambkins lay 
The other beasts. They, understanding not, 
In wistful silence round that fatal spot 
Stood eyeing the dead Lambs with looks forlorn. 

Adam, who w r as upon the march that morn, 

Missing his bodyguard, turn'd back to see 

What they were doing ; and there also he 

Saw the two frozen Lambkins lying dead, 

But understood not. At the last he said, 

" Since the Lambs cannot move, methinks 'twere best 

That I should carry them." 

So on his breast 
He laid their little bodies, and again 
Set forward, follow'd o'er the frosty plain 



THE LEGEND OF THE DEAD LAMBS. 8< 

By his bewilder'd flocks. And in dismay 
They held their peace. That was a silent day. 
At night he laid the dead Lambs on the grass. 
That night still colder than the other was, 
And when the morning broke there were two more 
Dead Lambs to carry. Adam took the four, 
And in his arms he bore them, no great way, 
Till eventide. That was a sorrowful day. 

But, ere the next, two other Lambkins died, 
Frost-bitten in the dark. Then Adam tried 
To carry them, all six. But the poor Sheep 
Said, " Nay, we thank thee, Adam. Let them 

sleep ! 
Thou canst not carry them. 'Tis all in vain. 
We fear our Lambkins will not wake again. 
And, if they wake, they could not walk — for see, 
Their little legs are stiffen'd. Let them be ! " 



90 AFTER PARADISE. 

So Adam left the Lambs. And all the Herd 
Follow'd him sorrowing, and not a word 
Was spoken. Never until then had they 
Their own forsaken. That was the worst day. 

Eve said to Adam, as they went along, 
" Adam, last night the cold was bitter strong. 
Warm fleeces to keep out the freezing wind 
Have those six Lambkins thou hast left behind ; 
But they will never need them any more. 
Go, fetch them here ! and I will make, before 
This day be done, stout garments for us both, 
Lest we, too, wake no more." Said Adam, loth 
To do her bidding, " Why dost thou suppose 
Our Lambs will nevermore have need of those 
Warm fleeces ? They are sleeping." But Eve said, 
" They are not sleeping, Adam. They are dead." 
" Dead ? What is that ? " " I know not. But I know 



THE LEGEND OF THE DEAD LAMBS. 91 

That they no more can feel the north wind blow, 

Nor the sun burn. They cannot hear the bleat 

Of their own mothers, cannot suffer heat 

Or cold, or thirst or hunger, weariness 

Or want, again." "How dost thou know all this ? " 

Ask'd Adam. And Eve whisper'd in his ear, 

" The Serpent told me." " Is the Serpent here ? 

If here he be, why hath he," Adam cried, 

" No good gift brought me ? " Adam's wife replied, 

" The best of gifts, if rightly understood, 

He brings thee, and that gift is counsel good. 

The Serpent is a prudent beast ; and right ! 

For we were miserably cold last night, 

And may to-night be colder; and hard by 

Those dead Lambs in their woolly fleeces lie, 

Yet need them not as we do. They are dead. 

Go, fetch them hither ! " 



92 AFTER PARADISE. 

Adam shook his head. 
But went. 

Next morning, to the beasts" surprise. 
Adam and Eve appear'd before their eyes 
In woollen fleeces warmly garmented. 
And all the beasts to one another said, 
" How wonderful is Man, who can make wool 
As good as Sheep's wool, and more beautiful ! " ? 

Only the Fox, who snift and grinn'd, had guess'd 
Man's unacknowledged theft : and to the rest 
He sneer d, " How wonderful is Woman's whim ! 
See, Adam's wife hath made a sheep of him ! " 



IV. 



THE LEGEND OF EVE'S JEWELS. 



IV. 



From that day forth Eve eyed with tenderness 
The Serpent, to whose craft she owed her dress. 
But " More," he whisper'd in her ear one day, 
" Thou still mayst owe me, if it please thee. Say, 
Wouldst thou be fair ? " 

The woman smiled, " Behold me ! 
Am I not fair already ? " " Who hath told thee 
That thou art fair ? " the Serpent ask'd. Again 
Eve smiled, and answer'd, " Adam." " Ah, but 
when ? " 



96 AFTER PARADISE. 

He ask'd. And, this time sighing as she smiled, 

She said, " Before the birth of our first child." 

" I thought so," said the Serpent. " Long ago !" 

Eve's eyes grew tearful. She replied, " I know 

It was but yesterday I chanced to trace 

Reflected in a mountain pool the face 

That he had praised • and I was satisfied 

That certainly, unless the water lied, 

Adam was right." " Was right," the Serpent said, 

" So was last summer sweet." " Doth beauty fade ? " 

Eve murmur'd. " Ay, with youth," said he. " And 

thou 
Canst make me young again ? " " Not that. But how, 
When young no more, to make thee fair again 
I know a way." " What way?" said Eve. " Explain ! " 
" It is," he answer'd, " by adorning thee." 
" And what wouldst thou adorn me with ?" said she. 
" Myself ! " he whisper'd. 



y 



THE LEGEND OF EVE'S JEWELS. 97 

Then the Serpent rolPd 
His ruby-colour'd rings and coils of gold 
Around the form of Eve : her neck enlaced, 
And was a necklace ; girt her pliant waist, 
And was a girdle ; with elastic bound 
Above her knee his wistful clasp en wound, 
And was a garter ; with repeated twist 
Of twinkling chain entwined her tender wrist, 
And was a bracelet. Last of all, her brow 
He crown'd, and cried, " Man's Queen, I hail thee 
now ! " 

Eve blusht. The sense of some new sexual power 

Unknown to all her being till that hour, 

Within it kindled a superb surprise. 

Back, with half-open'd lips and half-shut eyes, 

She lean'd to its rich load her jewell'd head. 

And at her ear again the Serpent said, 



9§ AFTER PARADISE. 

" By the bright blaze of thine adornment, see 

What in the years to come thy sex shall be ! 

Mere female animal, much weaker than 

The male its master, not the Queen of Man, 

Scarce even his mate, that sex was born ; but more 

Than it was born shall it become. Such store 

Doth in it lurk of secret subtilty, 

Such seed of complex life, as by-and-by 

Shall grow into full Woman ; and, when grown, 

The Woman shall avenge, tho' she disown,' 

The Female, her forgotten ancestress. 

Mother of both, my glittering caress 

Now wakes beneath thy bosom's kindled snow 

Whole worlds of Womanhood in embryo ! 

A penal law controls Man's fallen state. 

It's name is Progress : and, to stimulate 

That progress to its destin'd goal, Decay, 

Woman, with growing power, shall all the way 



THE LEGEND OF EVE'S JEWELS. 99 

Its course accompany — from happiness 

And ignorance to knowledge and distress ; 

From careless impulse to contrived device ; 

From spontaneity to artifice ; 

From simple to sophisticated life ; 

From faith to doubt, and from repose to strife. 

Whilst, still as Progress doth its prey pursue, 

The weaker shall the stronger-born subdue, 

Man subjugating first those monsters grim 

Whose strength is more than his ; then, Woman him : 

Tho' he born weaker than most beasts, and she 

Born weaker even than man's own weakness, be. 

So shall the Feminine Force that set him on 

Still keep him going till his course be done. 

Far hath he yet to travel his long way, 

But thou hast started him. And on the day 

He lost that Paradise he ne'er had won, 

Here was his progress, thanks to thee, begun. 

H 2 



ioo AFTER PARADISE. 

That was Man's first step forward. I perceive 

He (thanks again to thee) is on the eve 

Of yet another. Good advice to him 

Thou gavest, whence he got his winter trim, 

So warm and stout. But at that fleecy coat 

The beasts, his unprogressive friends, I note, 

Begin to look suspiciously askance. 

And thence do I predict his next advance. 

'Twixt Man and Beast the inevitable strife 

Must needs enforce 'twixt Man and Man a life 

More artificial. And therefrom shall rise 

The Future Woman ; form' d to civilize, 

Corrupt, and ruin, raise, and overthrow 

Cycles of social types that all shall owe 

To her creative and destructive sway 

Their beauty's blossom, and their strength's decay. 

Behold, then, in thyself the primal source 

Of Human Progress, and its latest force ! 



THE LEGEND OF EVE'S JEWELS. 101 

For, since from thee shall thy fair daughters, Eve, 

A subtler sex than all thy sons receive, 

Their beauty shall complete what thine began, 

Thou crown a Queen Mother of the Queens of Man !" 



V. 



THE LEGEND OF FABLE. 



V. 



With many a plume and tuft of brilliant dye, 
And blushing berries twined in belt and tress, 
Eve on her clothing had begun to try 
What ornament could add to usefulness 
From day to day. But, as the days went by, 
The more she prized her borrow'd charms, the less 
She loved their owners who, approving not 
Those pilfer'd splendours, with resentful eye 
Beheld them all. For out the secret got, 
How from the bodies of the dead were torn 
The garments Eve and Adam gloried in : 



106 AFTER PARADISE. 

And to the beasts, who were as they were born. 
It seem'd a scandal and a sort of sin 
That their own wool and fur should thus be worn 
By limbs not theirs. " Let each defend his skin !" 
They said to one another. 

In those days 
There was a little animal Eve yet 
Loved passing well ; for it had pleasant ways, 
Was smooth, and soft, and sleek, and seem'd to set 
A grateful store on her capricious praise. 
Curl'd in her lap 'twould nestle without fear, 
And let her stroke its back and bosom white, 
Until to Eve this beast became so dear 
That in its confidence she took delight. 
But, when the Herd discover'd that her dress 
Was stolen from their plunder'd kith and kin, 
Eve's little favourite fear'd each fresh caress 
Her hand bestow'd on it, and felt within 



THE LEGEND OF FABLE. 107 

Its frighten'd heart a sharp mistrustfulness, 

For " If she took a fancy to my skin ? " 

The creature mused. And ever from that date 

Its thoughts and looks were all alert to find 

Some means whereby it might escape the fate 

Whose horrid prospect hover'd vague behind 

Eve's fondling fingers. Once, when peering round, 

Inquisitively careful to explore 

All nooks and corners till such means were found, 

It spied a heap of fish-bones on the floor. 

Then, from Eve's lap down-sliding to the ground, 

It roll'd itself among them o'er and o'er 

Till it became a Porcupine. And " How 

To guard my skin,'*' it chuckled, " nevermore 

Need I henceforth take any pains, for now 

My skin it is that will henceforth guard me ! " 

So in this unapproachable condition 



108 AFTER PARADISE. 

Secure it lived : for its security 

Was even the same as Man's was — Arm'd Suspicion. 

Suspicion everywhere ! No peace could be 

On earth henceforth. To war suspicion led. 

Long ages is it since that war began, 

And seas of blood have been on both sides shed, 

Yet still it lasts. In servitude to Man 

Some captived beasts survive. The Dog is one. 

But, just because the Dog to Man is true, 

From his approach his former comrades run, 

Deeming him traitor to their cause. Some few 

(The fiercest and the savagest alone) 

An intermittent and unequal strife 

Around their dens in desert lands pursue, 

And they and Man are enemies for life. 

Nor they and Man alone : for, confidence 

Once gone, the beasts upon each other prey'd 



THE LEGEND CF FABLE. 109 

Like beasts, without the plausible pretence 
Of good intentions by Man's nature made 
For his bad doings in the grim campaign 
'Twixt him and them. This so revolted her, 
That Justice from the world-wide battle-plain 
Fled blushing. Pity's flight was tardier : 
But, after lingering long in vain appeal 
From heart to heart, she follow'd Justice too, 
Where only bloodstains left behind reveal 
The paths whereby she fled from mortal view. 

And they, the gentle Beasts of Paradise 
That were Man's once familiar intimates, 
Far from the menace of his murderous eyes 
Whither, O whither are they gone ? The gates 
Of Paradise are shut for ever, and there 
No refuge for Man's victims, nor for him, 
Remains on earth. But. from the bowers that were 



no AFTER PARADISE. 

With Eden lost, the pitying Seraphim 
Sow'd in the waste one seed. A forest fair 
Sprang from it — giant trees of lusty limb, 
Long vaults of bloom and verdure never bare, 
Where forms, half-bird half-blossom, flash and swim 
From bough to bough, and, husht in windless air, 
Soft shadows flutter from the whisperous wings 
Of half-awaken'd dreams ; while all things there 
Seem slowly turning into other things, 
As, down the bowery hollows to the brim 
Of immemorial seas, melodious springs 
From undiscoverable sources bear 
Primeval secrets. 

Deep into the dim 
But deathless shelter of that blest repair 
Those gentle beasts departed, and became 
Forthwith imperishably fabulous. 



THE LEGEND OF FABLE. 

For History, that doth so loud proclaim 

And with such curiosity discuss 

Man's perishable life and course unstable, 

Of them and theirs knows nothing, and the name 

Of their unfading Forest Home is Fable. 

Far off, and ever farther off from us, 
That Forest and the dwellers in it seem, 
As far and farther on we travel fast, 
And more and more like a remember'd dream 
Becomes the glimmering wonder of the Past. 
But, o'er a winged and four-footed folk 
Whose unsophisticated nature yields 
Spontaneous service to her even yoke, 
There Justice reigns revered ; there Pity shields 
An else defenceless flock ; and there do they 
Their joint tribunal hold, where every cause 
That in this human world hath gone astray, 



ii2 AFTER PARADISE. 

And honest trial miss'd, by lovelier laws 
Than ours is welcomed to impartial test, 
All cases pleaded, be they what they may, 
All rights establish'd, and all wrongs redress'd. 
How far away it seems, how far away ! 

Yet one step only from the trodden track 
That to its daily pilgrims, every one, 
Appears to be the very zodiac 
The universe itself is travelling on, 
Let any man but turn aside, and lo ! 
Around whatever path he chance to pace 
With steps unconscious of the way they go 
Far-reaching Fable's million-branch'd embrace 
Doth its unfathomable influence throw. 

To him who tells these tales such chance befell 
Once on a time : and in that Forest old 



THE LEGEND OF FABLE. 

(Tho' how he enter'd it he cannot tell) 

With one whose face he may no more behold 

Or there or here, he was beguiled to dwell 

Full many a month. But few of his own kind, 

Among the folk who there safe dwelling have, 

To greet him or to guide him did he find. 

Of these, the wisest was a Phrygian slave, 

The holiest Assisi's tender Saint. 

Phcedrus upon the borders of the land 

Sat listening ; and to him came echoes faint 

From voices far within. His careful hand 

On tablets smooth deliberately wrote 

In unimpulsive verse, correctly plann'd, 

All that thus reach'd him from a source remote. 

But there, without restraint, from place to place 

And led by none, tho' followed by a band 

Of Loves and Graces whose light steps kept pace 

With his inimitably varied lay, 



114 AFTER PARADISE. 

Free-footed went the witty Fabulist 

Of social France. And there our English Gay, 

Methodically playful, neither miss'd 

Nor much advanced his unadventurous way. 

Howbeit along that dim and vast domain 

From the discourse of any one of these 

Scant guidance did its last explorer gain. 

There were so many more instructors ! Trees, 

Rocks, rivers, rainbows, clouds, dews, wind, and rain, 

No less than birds and beasts, that live at ease 

An unmolested life by hill and plain 

Throughout its vocal realms (where all that is 

Is all alive) have tongues, and talk as well 

As men or books ; nor do they take amiss 

The questions ask'd them, nor refuse to tell 

Their secrets to the souls that, lingering there, 

Have learn'd their language. 



THE LEGEND OF FABLE. 115 

What this listener heard,. 
There lingering long, he may not here declare. 
But many a tale to him by beast and bird 
In Fable Land imparted (if time spare 
The life of any purpose long deferr'd, 
Or to postponed occasion, when 'tis won, 
Recall an errant will's disbanded powers) 
Fain would he tell beneath the lingering sun 
Of months unborn, that hide midsummer hours 
Whose golden gossamers have not yet spun 
Their shininsr clues to still-unblossom'd bowers. 



1 2 



L'ENVOI. 



AD iESOPUM. 

i. 

Say, ^sop, wast thou born a slave, 

Who dost so freely speak ? 
Thy thoughts so upright and so brave ! 

Thy back so bent and weak ? 
So ugly and so coarse thy face ? 
And, in thy fancies all, such grace ! 

2. 

Did thy rude comrades play thee pranks. 

Thy master beat thee sore, 
Yet live to own with grateful thanks 

Thy wit had saved his store ? 
How fail'd such wit thyself to save 
From an unjust and cruel grave ? 



i: ENVOI. 



Hadst thou, indeed, a stammering tongue, 

Splay foot and limping walk, 
Whose children are so fair and strong ? 

Didst thou with Solon talk ? 
And didst thou sup with Croesus too 
At Sardian feasts ? Is all that true ? 



Vain questions ! Not to us nor thee, 
Dear Sage, it matters now 

If true or false the stories be 
Of what thou wast : for thou 

Art what we are : and all thou art 

We all receive, and all impart. 



AD MSOPUM. 121 



Of thee, who knewst the world so well, 
Not much the world hath known : 

Thy voice to us doth only tell 
Our secrets, not thine own : 

But thou before us everywhere 

Hast been, and still we find thee there, 



Great Sire of Fable ! Age to age 
Extends, from north to south 

From east to west, thine heritage, 
That grows from mouth to mouth. 

And, with its growth still growing thus, 

Thou art thyself grown fabulous. 



POEMS. 



TRANSFORMATIONS. 
(a midsummer night's dream.) 



I. 
" Here at last alone, 

You and I together ! 

All the night our own, 

And the warm June weather ! 

Not a soul in sight ! 

AYhat we will, we may. 

Nothing is by night 

As it was by day. 

Look around you ! See, 

All things change themselves. 

Blossom, bower, and tree 

Turn to Fays and Elves ; 

Trivial things and common 



126 POEMS. 

Into rare things rising. 
Why should man and woman 
Be less enterprising? 
Fashion's formal creatures 
We till now have been, 
With prim-pattern'd features 
And a borrowed mien. 
Now the mask is broken, 
Now the fetters fall, 
Wishes long unspoken 
Now are all in all ! 
Wondrous transformation 
Now, for you and me, 
Waits our invocation. 
Say, what shall we be ? " 



2. 



What vou will," said She. 



TRANSFORM,! TIONS. 127 

3- 

" Look, then, and listen ! For you must be waiting, 

Behind a high grating, 

The sound of my signal. Along the wild land 

I have gallop'd full speed on my coal-black steed 

To free my love from my foemairs hand, 

And lo ! in the moonlight alert I stand 

Close under the castle wall. 

Look out, I am here ! 

Leap down, nor fear ! 

For into my rescuing arms you fall, 

Safe and free. They are round you, see ! 

One saddle must serve us, so cling to me well, 

And away, and away, thro' the night we flee ! 

But hark ! 'Tis the clang of the 'larum bell. 

Our pursuers awake. For dear life's sake 

Cling to me closer, and closer still ! 

And speed, speed, my coal-black steed ! 



128 POEMS. 

They are hurrying after us over the hill. 
But clear'd is the river, and cross'd is the heath, 
Deep into the sheltering woods we dart, 
And O what a ride ! for I feel your breath, 
And how hot it burns ! and I hear your heart, 
And how loud it beats ! as I laugh ' We part 
No more, come life come death ! ; " 

4- 
" No, no/' 

She siglrd, " not so ! 
Too fiercely fleets your coal-black steed, 
And pleasure faints in passion's speed, 
And the bliss that lingers the best must be," 
Siglvd She. 

5- 
" Listen, then, and look, once more ! 
We are sailing round a southern island. 



TRAXSFORMA TIONS. 1 29 



Fragrant breathes the dusky shore, 
Folded under many a moonlit highland. 
Fragrant breathes the dusky shore, 
And where dips the languid oar 
Wavelets dimple flash and darkle, 
Odours wander, fireflies sparkle : 
Thro' them all our bark is gliding, 
Gliding softly, gliding slowly : 
Not a cloud their sweetness hiding, 
All the heavens are husht and holy : 
Midnight's panting pulse uncertain 
Faintly fans the heaving curtain 
O'er the silken-pillow'd seat 
Where you lie with slipper'd feet. 
Tresses loosed, and zone unbound ; 
While, my ribbon'd lute unslinging, 
I, your troubadour, beside you, 
O'er its chords, that trembling sound, 



130 POEMS. 

Pour the song my soul is singing : 
List, and let its music guide you, 
Till the goal of dreams be found ! ;; 

6. 
" Ah, stay so ! " 
She murmur'd low, 
" Song and stream forever flow ! 
And, if this be dreaming, never 
Let me wake, but dream for ever, 
Dreaming thus, if dream it be ! " 
Then He : 

7- 
" As night's magic blends together 
Moonbeams, starbeams, odours, dews, 
In a hush of happy weather, 
Earth and heaven to interfuse ; 
So my song draws softly down 



TRANSFORMA TIONS. 

All your soul into mine own, 

Bounteous gift on gift bestowing : 

First, that heaven, your face ; and then 

Heaven's divinest stars, those eyes 

Under dewy lashes glowing ; 

Last, those lips, whose smile caresses 

All their breath beatifies ; 

And the fragrance o'er me flowing 

From those downward-shaken tresses, 

Whose delicious wildernesses 

Hide such haunts of happy sighs ! " 



" Rise, ah rise ! " 

Faint She whisper'd. " Flold me fast ! 

For away the fixt earth flies, 

And I know not where we are. 

What is coming ? What is past ? 



K 2 



132 POEMS. 

Bursting, flashing, fleeting, see, 
Swiftly star succeeds to star 
Till .... in what new world are we ? " 
" Love's," said He. 

9- 

iC Song and lute the spell obeying, 
Cease in silence sweeter, stronger, 
Than song-singing or lute-playing : 
And, entranced, I know no longer 
Whither are my senses straying : 
But I feel my spirit blending 
With the bliss of thine, and ending 
Tremulously lost in thee ! " 

10. 
" Hush ! " sigh'd She, 
" Lest this dream, if dream alone 



TRANSFORMA TIONS. 1 33 



And no more than dream it be, 
By a breath should be undone. 



For ah," She sigh'd, 



" I and thou, what are we now? " 
And He replied, 
" Thou art I, and I am thou, 
And we are one ! " 



134 POEMS. 

NORTH AND SOUTH, 

i. 

Far in the southern night she sleeps ; 

And there the heavens are husht, and there, 
Low murmuring from the moonlit deeps, 

Faint music lulls the dreamful air. 
Xo tears on her soft lashes hang, 

On her calm lips no kisses glow. 

The throb, the passion, and the pang 

Are over now. 



But I ? From this full-peopled north, 
Whose midnight roar around me stirs, 

How wildly still my heart goes forth 
To haunt that silent home of hers ! 

There night by night, with no release, 
These sleepless eyes the vision see, 

And all its visionary peace 

But maddens me. 



i3S 

ATHENS. 
(1865.) 



The burnt-out heart of Hellas here behold ! 

Quench'd fire-pit of the quick explosive Past, 
Thought's highest crater — all its fervours cold, 
Ashes and dust at last ! 

And what Hellenic light is living now 

To gild, not Greece, but other lands, is given : 
Not where the splendour sank, the after-glow 
Of sunset stays in heaven. 

But loud o'er Grecian ruins still the lark 
Doth, as of old, Hyperion's glory hail, 
And from Hymettus, in the moonlight, hark 

The exuberant nightingale ! 



136 POEMS. 



CINTRA. 

(1868.) 



1. 

In the brake are creaking 

The tufted canes, 
And the wind is streaking 
With fugitive stains 
A welkin haunted by hovering rains. 

2. 
Low lemon-boughs under 

My garden wall, 
In the Quinta yonder, 
By fits let fall 
Here an emerald leaf, there a pale gold ball, 



C INTRA. 

3- 

On the black earth, studded 
With droplets bright 

From the fruit trees, budded, 
Some pink, some white, 
And now overflooded with watery light. 

4- 

For the sun, thro' a chasm 
Of the colourless air, 

With a jubilant spasm 

From his broken lair 
Upleaps and stands, for a moment, bare ! 

5- 

But a breath bewilders 

The wavering weather ; 



138 POEMS, 

And those sky-builders 
That put together 
The vaporous walls of the cloud-bound ether 



From the mountains hasten 
In pale displeasure 

To mortice and fasten 

The bright embrasure, 
Shutting behind it day's innermost azure. 

On the bleak blue rim 
Of the lonesome lea, 

Shapeless and dim 

As far things at sea, 
Mafra yon nebulous clump must be ! 



C INTRA. 139 

8. 

Across the red furrows 

To where in the sides 
Of the hills he burrows 

(As a reptile hides) 
The many-legg'd, long-back'd, aqueduct strides. 

9- 

Just over the pines, 

As from tapers snuff'd, 
A thin smoke twines 

Till its course is luff'd 
At the edge of the cliff, by the breeze rebuff'd; 



Whence, downward turning 
A dubious haze, 



i 4 o POEMS. 

(From the charcoal-burning) 
It strays, delays, 
And departs by a dozen different ways. 



The chestnuts shiver. 

The olive trees 
Recoil and quiver, 

Stung by the breeze, 
Like sleepers awaked by a swarm of bees. 

12. 

Down glimmering lanes 
The grey oxen go ; 
And the grumbling wains 
They drag onward slow 
Wail, as they wind in a woeful row, 



C INTRA. 141 



13- 



With fruits and casks 

To the seaside land, 
Where Colares basks 
In a glory bland, 
And from gardens o'erhanging the scented sand 

14. 

Great aloes glisten 

And roses dangle. 
But listen ! listen ! 

The mule-bells jangle, 
Rounding the rock-hewn path's sharp angle. 

As their chime dies out 

The dim woods among, 



142 POEMS. 

With the ghostly shout 
And the distant song 
Of the muleteers that have pass'd along, 

1 6. 

From behind the hill 

Whence comes that roar, 
Up the road so still 

But a minute before ? 
Tis a message arrived from the grieved sea shore. 

And, tho' close it seems, 

Yet from far away 
It is come, as in dreams 

The announcements they 
To the souls that can understand convev. 



C INTRA. 143 

18. 

For whenever you hear, 

As you hear it now, 
That sound so clear, 

You may surely know 
Foul weather's at hand, tho' no wind should blow. 

19. 

But the cork wood is sighing, 

It cannot find rest ; 
And the raven, flying 

Around his black nest, 
Hath signall'd the storm to the Sierra's crest. 

20. 

Plaintive and sullen, 
Penalva moans ; 



144 POEMS. 

The torrents are swollen ; 
The granite bones 
Of Cruzalta crackle with split pine cones ; 

21. 

Roused and uproarious 
The huge oaks yell 
Till the ghost of Honorius 
Is scared from his cell, 
Where not even a ghost could in quietude dwell; 

22. 

For the woods all round 

Its cork-clad walls 
Are storm'd by the sound 

Of the waterfalls 
That have shattered their mountain pedestals. 



C INTRA. 145 

I 2 3- 

On the topmost shelf 

Of the Pena, fast 
As the rock itself, 

In a cluster vast 

Stood castle and keep but a moment past ; 

24. 

Now, in what to the sight 

Is but empty air, 
They are v ..nisht quite, 

And the sharp peak, bare 
As a shaven chin, is upslanted there. 



25- 



Can a film of cloud, 

Like the fiat of Fate, 



L 



146 POEMS. 

In its sightless shroud 
Thus obliterate 
The ponderous mass of a pile so great ? 

26. 

'Twas a fact, yet a breath 

Has that fact dispell'd. 
So truth, underneath 
A cloud compell'd 
To hide her head, is no more beheld. 

27. 

The achievement of years, 
By a minute effaced, 
Departs, disappears, 
And is all replaced 
By a cold blank colourless empty waste. 



C INTRA. 147 

28. 

All forms, alas, 

That remain or flee 
As the winds that pass 

May their choice decree, 
Stand faster far than have stood by me 

29. 

The man I served, 

And the woman I loved. 

But what if they swerved 

As their faith was proved, 
When a mountain can be by a mist removed ? 



i. 2 



, 4 8 POEMS. 



SORRENTO REVISITED. 

(,885.) 



On the lizarded wall and the gold-orb'd tree 
Spring's splendour again is shining ; 

But the glow of its gladness awakes in me 
Only a vast repining. 

To Sorrento, asleep on the soft blue breast 
Of the sea that she loves, and dreaming, 

Lone Capri uplifts an ethereal crest 
In the luminous azure gleaming. 

And the Sirens are singing again from the shore. 

Tis the song that they sang to Ulysses; 
But the sound of a song that is sung no more 

My soul in their music misses. 



149 

FRAGRANCE. 
(a spring ballad.) 

DEDICATION 

TO 

Here Spring with her gifts is come. 

She hath given white buds to the hedge, 
To the wandering swallow a home, 

And a rose to your window ledge. 
In return for the gifts she gave 

A gift for herself she sought, 
And I, of the best I have, 

Gave to her a single thought. 
That thought was a thought of you, 

Spring laid it the leaves among, 
There fed it on light and dew, 

And return'd it to me in a song. 
So the twice-given gift, as to me 

Spring brought it, to you I bring : 
For this song is the child of three, 

Us two, and our playmate, Spring. 



150 POEMS. 



BALLAD. 



I. 

The soul of all the souls that have become 
Sweet odours, I am Fragrance from afar. 
Deep hid in Beauty's bosom was my home, 
And known to me her inmost mysteries are. 

2. 

I know the secret of the Rose. She blushes, 

I know the reason why. 

A hopeless passion in her heart she hushes 

For the bright Beetle-Fly. 

He was a bold and brilliant cavalier : 

He woo'd her in the love-time of the year 

A livelong summer day : 

He woo'd her, and he won her : then betray'd her. 

And, breaking all the vows that he had made her, 

Upon a sky-built sunbeam sail'd away. 



FRAGRANCE. 151 

3- 
Then the Rose wisht for wings to follow him, 
But all her wishings were of no avail. 
What she could do, she did. In pilgrim trim 
From bower to bower she wander' d down the dale, 
And climb'd and climb'd, and peep'd into the dim 
Nest of the Nightingale. 

4- 
The Nightingale beheld her, and averr'd 
That she was fairest of the fair. He said, 
" Fair crimson- winged creature, be a bird ! 
And I with thee, and none but thee, will wed." 
His amorous song the Rose resentful heard, 
And shook her head. 

5- 

Into that amorous song there slid a tear. 

The Rose was weeping, sad at heart was she. 



152 POEMS. 

But still the Nightingale with song sincere 

Sang to her in the twilight from the tree. 

" O wert thou but a bird ! thou art so dear, 

Thee would I mate with, and wed none but thee ! " 

" Nay," sigh'd the Rose, " I seek mine absent fere, 

A lover bold and born of high degree, 

My heart is sad because he is not here, 

Sir Scarabaeus he ! " 

6. 

The Evening Wind .pass'd by, and heard her boast, 

And to the Rose he whisper'd, laughing low, 

" Poor Rose, thine absent lover thou hast lost, 

For he is faithless, and forsaken thou ! 

I met him on my travels at the Court 

Of Queen Spiraea of Ulmaria. 

The Meadow Queen is she, and all amort 

Sir Scarabaeus, for her sake, that day 



FRAGRANCE, 153 

Had sworn to break a lance. The tilt was short, 
I left him lying wounded in the dust, 
And only know that, by the last report, 
Thy gallant had received a mortal thrust. 
Now all the common flowers that far and wide 
Have envied thee because thou art so fair 
Are laughing at thee. But whate'er betide, 
Come thou with me, and I will bring thee where 
Thou yet mayst find him in his fallen pride." 
The poor Rose hung her head, and, in despair, 
" Had I but wings !" she sigh'd, 
" Had I but wings ! " 

7- 
With laughter light again, 
" Thou hast them," that perfidious Wind replied, 
"And I will show thee how to use them." Then 
He breathed upon the Rose, and, undenied, 



154 POEMS. 

Pluckt from her one by one her petals fair ; 
But, soon dissatisfied 

With his sweet theft, along the thankless air 
He tost the stolen petals here and there, 
And off he hied. 



Me for himself he would have kept. But I 
Beheld thee, as the Evening Wind went by 
Bearing me with him. To the Wind I said 
"Wait for me ! " and I slid into thy soul. 
When the Wind miss'd me he believed me dead, 
And so went on without me to his goal, 
Which he shall never reach, for every hour 
It changes. 

From that moment I became 
The inmate of thy thoughts. I have the power 
To perfume all the paths they haunt. My name 



FRAGRANCE. 155 

Another's lips must teach thine own to spell. 

Untold I leave it, lest the Evening Star 

Should guess it in thine eyes. With thee to dwell, 

And thine to be for ever, from afar 

I come with secrets laden, I can tell 

To none but thee. So sweet my whispers are, 

That with their fragrance fill'd is every thought 

That I have breathed on. Maiden pure and fair, 

A paradise of perfumes I have brought 

That thy sweet soul may breathe in sweetest air. 

Ah, keep it ! The Soul's Fragrance lost, can aught 

That loss repair? 



156 POEMS. 



LINES* 

COMPOSED IN SLEEP. 



This is the place. Here flourish'd Wicked Deeds 
And wither'd, in a world without a name, 
Buried ere ours was born. Fierce troops of Crimes 
Weapon'd and crown'd, athwart a desert land 
Of wasted loveliness, to reach this place 
Travell'd in pomp : here settled, and here died, 

* These lines are the result of a slumber, not induced by any 
narcotic, from which the writer awoke under an extraordinarily 
vivid impression that he had composed in his sleep a poem of 
considerable length. Of the purport of the poem he retained 
only a vague and shadowy notion ; but more than a hundred lines 
of it were lingering (as it seemed to him) so distinctly in his re- 
collection that he hastened to write them down. His memory 
however (or the illusion which had usurped the function of 
memory) suddenly and completely failed him at the point where 
this fragment breaks off. He has never been able to complete 
it ; and it is printed here, without alteration, as a psychological* 
curiosity. 



LINES. J 57 

Grown old and weak : and, dying left behind 

No chronicle upon the bare rock graven 

Of what they were or what they did. The lives 

They cramm'd with evil, all their wicked loves, 

Their wicked hates, Death and slow Time have turn'd 

Into a sly grey silent ghostliness, 

A stealthy-footed Fear, that prowls for prey, 

Creeps on the wretch who wanders here unwarn'd, 

Catches him, with long fingers, by the head, 

Nor lets him go till all his mind is gone. 

This was their city's tower'd acropolis, 
This sprawling hoop of roofless ruin huge 
Whose heart is hollowness. These broken ribs 
Of crumbled stone and mounds of rippling grass 
Were walls whose builders, when those walls were 

built, 
Kings put to death, that none the plan might tell 



158 POEMS. 

Of secret chambers cruelly contrived 

For lust and murder : and therein were born 

Abominable pleasures. Round them now 

Rank ivy rustles with the revelry 

Of spangled reptiles. Down in a dry well 

There hath been dwelling for three thousand years 

An old white newt, whiter than leprosy. 

He only knows the long-forgotten names 

Of those strong scarlet blossoms on the brink 

That once were Sins. ***** 



159 



PROMETHEIA. 

(freedom of speech and press, et cetera.) 

Mephistopheles (ad spectatores) 

" Am ende hangen wir doch ab 
Von creaturen die wir machten." — 
Faust. — Second Part. (Birth of the Homunculus. ) 

PART I. 

"God of the Gods, and Lord of Heaven ! Since now 

Repentant Power rejects not Reason's use, 

Here on the Path of Progress stay not thou 

Thy steps by me w 7 ell-counseird ! ?J (Thus to Zeus 

Prometheus spake.) " From Earth's primordial womb 

Mute to the birth her progeny are brought. 

« 

To death they go, as into life they come, 
Condemned to suffer all and utter nought. 
Read in the language of their longing eyes 
The passionate petition of the dumb, 



i6o POEMS. 

And grant the long'd-for gift, mere life denies, 
A voice to Will, to Feeling, and to Thought ! " 

But Zeus, mistrustful, murmur'd " To what end ? " 

" No end of ends," he answer'd, " and in each 

A fresh beginning ! for with better fraught 

Is every best, as world on world ascend, 

In ceaseless self-upliftings, life's immense 

Capacities of growth. Voice leads to speech, 

Speech to intelligence, intelligence 

To liberty, and liberty " .... " To what ? " 

Zeus interrupted. " Ever out of reach 

Thy thoughts run on, and all thy language still 

Sounds revolutionary." " Still ! why not ? " 

Prometheus laugh'd. " We share the imputed crime. 

From revolutionary fountains flow 

Fresh streams of force : and, tho' enthroned sublime 

On spoiPd Olympus, what thyself wert thou 

Without the Revolution, Son of Time ? " 



PROMETHEIA. 161 

" Titan," the God, with darkening aspect, sigh'd, 

" It was to ravish, not retain, a throne 

That on the Revolution we relied ; 

Wherein thy services have every one 

Been well requited." "Ay," Prometheus cried, 

" Witness Mount Caucasus ! " " What's done is done." 

Zeus answer'd. " Not till thou hadst turn'd our foe 

And filch'd our fire, did we retaliate thus. 

But witness also thou, that (long ago 

Recall'd with recompense from Caucasus) 

Thee hath our later friendship favoured so, 

That thine is now copartnership with us 

In all our own Olympian empery, 

By thy weird wisdom guided. Why discuss 

The unalterable past ? Nor thou nor I 

Fresh conflict crave. This much concede." " I do," 

Prometheus mutter'd, " and the reason why 

Full well, Fate-driven Thunderer, I know ! 

M 



1 62 POEMS. 

For thy reluctant power perforce obeys 

The strict compulsions of Necessity." 

" Her iron yoke," replied the God, " she lays 

On Gods and Titans both, and none can close, 

None ope, her hidden hand. Forget the days 

That disunited us, nor indispose 

A confidence that fain would rest assured 

Rather in him sage Themis loves to praise, 

Than in the perjured Titan who abjured 

The cause of his own kindred." " And for whose, 

Ungrateful God?" " Nay, my Prometheus, mine 

The cause, I know, for which thou didst change sides." 

" Not thine," the indignant Titan cried, '"not thine ! 

Nor thine nor thee, Monarch of Parricides 

From Sire to Son, I sought ! In god or worm 

I care not where the sign of it I see, 

But let me find, beneath the poorest germ, 

Some promise of improvement, that to free 



PROMETHEIA. 163 

A hinder'd progress to a higher term 
Needs all the aid a Titan can afford, 
And mine shall not be wanting to confirm 
The effort that aspires to overcome !" 

Zeus, shaking his sheaved thunders at the word, 

Exclainrd, " Inveterately venturesome ! 

Whom should the upstart overcome ? Not me ? ' ; 

" And why not thee," Prometheus cried, " new lord 

Of a usurpt dominion ? Why not thee, 

Thee and thy kindred all, whose starry home 

To Kronos once belong'd, if its endeavour 

Of higher worth than thine and theirs should be ? 

Kronides, never have I flatter'd, never 

Deceived thee, or betray'd ! Forget not thou 

That in the Race of Uranus for ever 

Power hath been lost and won by overthrow. 

Unoverthrown, wouldst thou preserve it, dare 

To rule without oppression ! Fearless now, 

M 2 



1 64 POEMS, 

Fling the lone scepter of a world-wide care 
Into the lap of Freedom ! Safest thus 
Shall its supremacy remain, for there 
Rebellion breathes not. Flad not Kronos pent 
Our Giant Brotherhood in Tartarus, 
His might have been (thy treason to prevent) 
The hundred-handed help he lack'd of us. 
Confide in Liberty, the friend of all, 
And live by all befriended ! With her, grow 
From growth to growth, in a perpetual 
Increase of growing greatness ! So shalt thou, 
Still onward borne with all that's onward going, 
Be never by-gone, never out of date ! 
Tis at the price of ever greater growing 
Eternity is granted to the great." 

Zeus answer'd with an indecisive sigh. 
" Prophet," he said, " who, in the hoary Past 



PROMETHEIA. 165 

Where the old Gods and the old Ages lie, 

Sole of thy kindred didst the hour forecast 

Which thou alone survivest, prophecy 

(If still the gift of prophecy thou hast) 

What destiny for me, should I deny 

The gift thou cravest, is reserved by Fate ? " 

"The sadness of immense satiety," 

Prometheus murmur'd. " Pause and meditate ! " 

He added. '* I, the Spokesman of the Dumb, 

Am also Seer of the Unseen." " But what," 

Zeus sigh'd again, " will they next crave, to whom 

The voice to crave it hath been granted ? " " That 

Shall they themselves inform thee by and by," 

Exclaim'd the surly Giant, and thereat 

His shoulders huge he shrugg'd. 

Without reply 
Zeus mused awhile ; but, spying Eros pass 
Full-quiver'd for a chase of sweeter cry 



1 66 POEMS. 

Than Cynthia leads along the moonlit grass, 
When, thro' the rustling grove and glimpsing sky. 
Thin shadows, fast pursued by shadows, flee, 
The God, impatient, glanced at Earth's mute mass 
Then waved an acquiescent hand, as he 
Turn'd from the Titan with a faint " Alas, 
Prometheus, thou art compromising me ! " 



PART II. 

Leaving in haste the Olympian Council Hall, 

The apostate Titan down to Earth convey'd 

The grudged concession wrung from Zeus. There, all 

In conclave multitudinous array'd, 

His clients he together cali'd (from man 

In fair Apollo's faultless image made, 

To man's close copy, made on the same plan, 

The flat-faced ape) and all the bars undid 



PROMETHEIA. 167 

Which had till then lock'd mercifully fast 
The innumerable voices that, unchid, 
Now into riotous utterance rush'd at last. 

This done, preferring to appreciate 

The concert from a distance, he return'd 

To the Olympians — in whose looks irate 

A relisht indignation he discern'd. 

The Gods and Goddesses, the Demigods 

And Demigoddesses, all demi-nude, 

(As Classic Art's correctest periods 

Prescribed to each the appropriate attitude) 

Were listening, with more wonder than delight, 

To the new noisiness of earthly things. 

For quick and thick each animal appetite 

Throbb'd into sudden sound from the loud strings 

Of throats in thousands loosed ; and left and right 

Chirrupings, crowings, howlings, bellowings, 

And barkings — bass and treble of mingled mirth 



1 68 POEMS. 

And pain — were now profusely vomited 
In vehement hubbub from the vocal Earth. 

Meanwhile, as with sloped shoulder, shuffling tread 

Evasive, mien morose, and furtive eye, 

Thro' Heaven's bright groups the burly Titan sped, 

Their comments were not complimentary. 

" Please to explain," resentful Here said, 

" This new caprice, or stop that peacock's cry ! 

My bird will be a byword and a scoff 

If this continues ! " " Ah, Fair Majesty, 

This new caprice is an old debt paid off," 

Prometheus answer'd. " Fops in pomp array 'd 

Must now reveal what's in them, to the ear, 

Who, to the eye, have heretofore display'd 

Only what's on them. But have thou no fear, 

Thy favourite makes an admirable show — 

From one so beautiful exact no more !" 

Eos complain'd of the cock's clamorous crow, 



PROMETHEIA. 169 

Superfluously sounded o'er and o'er. 

" Prometheus might at least," she said, "for me 

Have managed to contrive a less absurd 

And indiscreetly strepitant minstrelsy 

Than the loud shriek of that ridiculous bird ! " 

" Sweet Cousin, thine indulgence," he replied, 

" For the cicala's strains (I grant that these 

Have not as yet been duly deified) 

Leaves to less plaintive notes small chance to please 

An ear compassionately prejudiced. 

Sleep sounder, and wake later ! What hath drawn 

Thy blushing charms, untimely thus enticed, 

O rosy-finger'd Daughter of the Dawn, 

From that soft couch Love's self were fain to lie on ? 

Is it the memory of Cephalus, 

Or else the expectation of Orion ? " 

With jests sarcastic curtly answering thus 



170 POEMS. 

The just reproaches of the Gods, that great 

Ungainly Titan strode from spot to spot, 

Superbly heedless of the scorn and hate 

His course provoked. Olympus loved him not, 

Despite his ancient birth and lineage high ; 

And even the new-made Deities, whose past 

Was but of yesterday, with sidelong eye 

Look'd on him as a god of lower caste. 

The restless spirit that from his peers in Heaven 

Ever aloof the unquiet Giant held 

Had to his strenuous Titanism given 

A tone incongruously coarse. Impell'd 

By unintelligible vehemence, 

His uncouth grandeur grieved the fluent grace 

Of the Olympian Quiet with intense 

Abrupt explosive ardours ; as apace 

On its swift course, all rough with rocks and roots, 

And fiercely fluttering with volcanic fire, 



PR0METHE1A. 171 

Some ravaged morsel of a mountain shoots 
Across the cloven crystal of a lake 
In whose clear depths stars and still clouds admire 
The lucid forms their own reflections take. 

Sole, Aphrodite (she, that Fairest Fair, 

Whose sacred sweetness from its rancorous tooth 

The Titan's biting wit was pleased to spare, 

- — She for whose solitary sake, in truth, 

The sullen menace of his face at whiles 

A fond mysterious fervour unavow'd 

Made soft and luminous with hovering smiles, 

Like summer lightnings thro' a sleeping cloud) 

Sole, Aphrodite found a curious charm 

In this grim God-born Mocker of the Gods ; 

And, waving to Prometheus her white arm, 

She beckon'd him with amicable nods. 

Submissive to her signal he drew near, 

And with a questioning gaze the Goddess eyed. 



172 POEMS. 

" Titan, well done ! " she whisper'd in his ear ; 

" What long on Earth I miss'd thou hast supplied. 

I love the lion's roar, the ring-dove's coo : 

By both alike love's needs are well express'd : 

The amorous bull's deep bellowing charms me too. 

But why hast thou withheld the last and best 

Of all thy gifts from those who, tho' but few, 

Most claim on thy solicitude possess'd ? " 

Prometheus, by astonishment tongue-tied, 

An interrogatory eyebrow raised. 

" Those larks and nightingales that yonder hide," 

The Goddess answer'd as on Earth she gazed, 

" Inaudible and invisible to all ! 

Darkling they haunt the shadows round them furl'd, 

Silent amidst the universal brawl 

And babble of the emancipated world. 

Yet heaven is husht to hear their minstrelsy : 

For these the moon and stars are not too sweet, 



PRO ME TIIEIA. 1 73 

For those the sun himself is not too high : 

And shall they have no listeners ? Hearts that beat 

With base emotions find ignoble voice, 

Wrath, and Unreason, and Vulgarity 

Speak loud. Stupidity and Spite rejoice 

In utterance unrestricted. Say, then, why 

(Where Folly's fife with Envy's clarion vies) 

Must these alone, the darlings of the Spring, 

Whose souls are fill'd with lyric ecstacies, 

Unheard, or even if heard unheeded, sing ? " 

The Titan's eye, with a soul-searching glare, 

Sounded the secret dwelling undescried 

In those small bosoms. " And what seest thou there?" 

The Goddess ask'd him. Sighing he replied 

" What I should have foreseen ! " " But what is that ? " 

Full on the glorious beauty of her face 

Prometheus gazed. " O Goddess, ask not what ! 



174 POEMS. 

Thou who, supreme in beauty and in grace, 

Art by adoring worlds proclaim'd divine, 

What kindred could thy confident godhood trace 

In a shy loveliness so unlike thine ? 

A loveliness of its own self afraid, 

A Bastard Beauty, fearing to be seen, 

Yet fainting to be loved, that seeks the shade ! " 

The Goddess laugh'd " What doth my Titan mean ? 

What bastard is he speaking of? " And he, 

" Ay, 'tis a Beauty bastard-born, and not 

Authentically certified to be, 

A Beauty surreptitiously begot 

From Heaven's embrace of Earth, and breathing, see, 

Between them both in secrecy and shame 

An unacknowledged life !" " But what," said she, 

Is this poor Heaven-born Earth-child's luckless name?" 

" Its name," Prometheus sigh'd, " is Poesy." 

"A woman?" "No." "A* man, then?" " Ah, still less!" 



PROMETHEIA. 175 

The glorious sexual Goddess blush'd outright, 
" Is Hermes, then, a father ? " " Nay, my guess 
" Divines not Hermes." "Zeus, then ? am I right?" 
"I doubt ..." " If there's a doubt, 'tis Zeus! Suppress 
The father's name, however. Well we know 
The mother is the love tale's text, of course, 
The father but the pretext. Name the mother ! " 
"But thou wouldst not believe me ..." "Worse 

and worse ! 
'Tis Here, then ? " " Not Here." " There's no other 
Of whom the thing's incredible — unless 
Perchance 'tis Pallas ? " " No alas, not she ! " 
" And why alas ? " With keen suggestiveness, 
For sole reply the Titan glowingly 
Gazed on the Goddess, till she blush'd again, 
" Matchless impertinent ! " But he, unmoved, 
" Goddess, I warn'd thee that thou wouldst not deign 
To give me credit . . . " " For such pert unproved 



1 76 POEMS. 

Assertion ? Fie, to say it to my face ! " 

" But I said nothing." "And yet all implied. 

What next, I wonder ! " " Queen of every grace 

And all that's beautiful," Prometheus cried, 

" Tell me thy parents ! " " Known to all are they, 

Zeus and Dione, both of them divine." 

" They ! " cried the Titan, " they thy parents ? Nay, 

Great and dear Goddess, beauty such as thine 

Had nobler birth ! Those stupid Gods are not 

The true begetters of a deity 

Above their own. J Twas otherwise begot. 

Slid from the starry bosom of the sky, 

A single drop of sacred ichor pure, 

The mystic blood of Uranus, contain'd 

In one bright bead thy whole progeniture : 

Hid in the heart of Ocean it remained 

Till there it brought thy wondrous self to birth : 

And, even so, one glimpse of Heaven unstain'd, 



PROMETHEIA. 17 7 

That fell reflected in a glance from Earth 

To Heaven uplifted, this new Beauty bore — 

Which bath no sex, no mother, and no sire, 

No kin on Earth, no home in Heaven — nay more, 

'Tis neither man nor woman, but the soul, 

Of the wide world's unsatisfied desire. 

And thro 5 the universe, without a goal, 

Its hungering heart must wander high and higher. 

Till from the Gods it gain (as I, for those 

Poor mortals yonder, snatch'd from Zeus his fire) 

The immortality they dread to lose." 

" But this new Beauty, do those bosoms small 
Enshrine it ? " ask'd the Goddess. " Ah, subdued," 
Prometheus murmur'd bitterly, " by all 
The vulgar voices of the multitude 
That loves its own monopoly of noise, 
No homage hath the homeless one on Earth ! 
And vainly its unanswer'd song employs 

N 



i;S POEMS. 

The gift I gave. In darkness and in dearth, 

By noise and glare engirt, unheard it sings, 

Unseen it stirs. For this, from Zeus I craved, 

What he denies me still, the gift of wings — 

For birds — birds only — that in some sweet bird 

Life's sweetest voice, from Earth's loud hubbub saved, 

Might soar in song to Heaven, and there be heard. 

Never while man breathes mortal breath shall he, 

The Earthborn, hand or foot from Earth withdraw : 

For there uplifted must his kingdom be 

By agelong labour. Language, there, and Law 

Hath he to found ; create, for social power 

And spacious trade, the Senate and the Mart ; 

Establish Science in her starry tower, 

x\nd mint the glowing miracles of Art. 

Such is the task by me for man design'd ! 

But ever, as on Earth his task he plies, 

Higher than foot and hand must heart and mind, 



PROMETHETA. 179 

Uplifted o'er the earthly labour, rise. 

Let mind and heart, then, heavenward pathways find 

Upon the wings of every bird that flies, 

While hand and foot stay fast to Earth confined ; 

Lest Earth should haply lose her fairest prize, 

The hand of man : whose fingers five shall bind 

Together all that his five wits' rejoice 

To wrench from Time's tenacious treasuries, 

As, guided onward by a winged voice, 

Earth's wingless lord to his high future hies ! " 



PART III. 

The Titan quiver'd. Strenuous tremours ran 
Thro' his huge limbs, rocking their heaviness 
Like wind-rack'd oaks ; and his deep eyes began 
To glow with a prophetic passion. "Yes ! 
And then," he murmur'd, " then the Race of Man 

N 2 



180 POEMS. 

(Taught by that winged voice) perchance may guess 

The giant purpose, the stupendous plan 

That, brooding o'er its cloudy cradle, I 

Have for the infant fashion'd. Changeless Gods, 

What profits you your immortality ? 

Thro' endless self-repeating periods 

To be the same for ever, is to be 

For ever lacking life's divinest gift, 

The faculty of growth. No inch can ye 

Your future o'er your present selves uplift. 

What good in such prolong'd ineptitude ? 

But to be ever growing young again, 

From age to age eternally renew'd 

With breath new-born, and ardour to attain 

Goals ever new, by courses never done, 

— This gift, to gods ungiven, or given in vain, 

My forethought hath reserved for man alone ! 

Death was the blind condition jealous Zeus, 



PROMETHEIA. 181 

To balk my purpose, on mankind imposed, 

But Death my purpose serves : for Death renews 

Man's youth, whose course old age might else have 

closed. 
Unprescient God, 'tis well thou couldst not guess 
That to these hands the fetter forged by thee 
Gave all required by their inventiveness 
To shape the sword that cuts each fetter free ! 
Mankind must die ! The fiat forth is gone. 
Die ? When I heard that word of doom proclaim'd, 
More self-restraint I needed to suppress 
A shout of joy, than when my strangled groan 
Burst not the bitten lips its anguish shamed, 
And not a cry revealed the dumb distress 
Of my Caucasian martyrdom. By Death 
The Race of Man shall be from age to age 
Replenisht with the perdurable breath 
Of endless birth, and vigour to engage 



1 82 POEMS. 

In ventures new. Death's sickle, as it reaps 
The old grain, to the young the soil restores, 
And still the harvest springs, and the soil keeps 
Still fresh for growth its disencumber'd pores. 
A man is dead, long live Mankind ! from soul 
To soul each life's acquest triumphantly 
Passes in sure succession. Ages roll, 
And in a hundred ages (what care I 
How many births as many deaths succeed ?) 
Man's Race, enrich'd a hundredfold thereby, 
Remains as young as ever. Oft with heed 
Have I the Ocean watch'd, and watch'd the shore. 
The sand, rejected by the wave's wild shock, 
Gathers in heaps and, growing more and more, 
And high and higher, hardens till at last 
The wave returning breaks upon a rock, 
And is itself rejected. Tost and cast 
By Time's recurrent waves, son after sire, 



PROMETHEIA. 183 

From death to death, like that sea-driven sand, 
Grains of Humanity, with past on past 
Your greatening future pile, and high and higher, 
Based on each others' buried shoulders, stand ! " 



" What art thou muttering ? " Aphrodite said. 
" Mysterious dreamer, dost thou meditate 
The Gods' destruction ? " High his shaggy head 
The Titan lifted, and replied elate, 
" Not thine, Anadyomene, not thine ! 
Passion's imperishable autocrat, 
Thee only of the Gods I deem divine, 
And permanent is thy sweet power as Fate. 
Receive mine oath, and aid me ! " 

"How? In what?'* 
" Inspire in Zeus the wish to be a bird 
That he may woo a mortal." 



1 84 POEMS. 

Letting fall 
Sweet lids o'er sunny eyes as this she heard, 
The Goddess smiled, and answer'd " Is that all ? " 



PART IV. 

Pretentious patrons of mankind, what pranks 
However monstrous has your pride disdain'd 
For pushing forward its own purpose ? Thanks 
To your activity, what tears have stain'd 
The trophies of man's progress ! What a sea 
Of blood, to float your cockle-boats, been shed ! 
Your fellow man from prejudice to free, 
Your fellow man's incorrigible head 
Have you chopp'd off with philanthropic glee, 
By basketfuls, benign Philanthropists ! 
And, promising a better life instead, 



PROMETHEIA. 185 

This life have you, evangelising Priests, 
With penance fill'd ! Your famed philosophies, 
By way of throwing light on what men find 
Compassionately dark, burn out their eyes, 
Vaunting Philosophers ! In vain mankind 
For refuge from its benefactors sighs. 

His purposes humane the Titan's mind 

Found less inhuman means to realise. 

He merely made a god ridiculous. 

When Zeus had, for the sake of Ganymede, 

Assumed an eagle's form, succumbing thus 

To Aphrodite's influence, thro' that deed 

The Son of Asia and Iapetus 

His end attain'd. For how thenceforth could Zeus 

(Plagued by the importunate solicitings 

Of such a crafty counsellor) refuse 

Even to the meanest bird a pair of wings ? 



i86 POEMS. 

Promiscuous benefits can rarely claim 

A better origin. To elevate 

One favourite, lest it should incur the blame 

Of personal preference in affairs of State, 

Some dozen mediocrities as high 

The Crown must needs advance. If, still irate, 

The Public Voice protests, to brave its cry 

There are at least thirteen instead of one : 

The wrong, moreover, that is done thereby 

To no one in particular is done : 

Tis but a general calamity, 

And that is an indignity to none. 

Yet vast and irremediable was 

The failure of Prometheus. From the day 

He universalised the voice, alas, 

Whilst every vulgar brute could say his say, 

To souls refined and delicate remain'd 



PROMETHEIA. 187 

No refuge from the hubbub all around 

But their own silence : and such souls refrain'd 

(Dumfounded quite by a disgust profound) 

From audible utterance. The loquacious zest 

Of Earth's coarse crowd had in the finer few 

Life's highest note unknowingly suppress'd. 

That was the Titan's first mistake. A new 

And worse one he fell into, in his quest 

Of means to mend it : for he did but brew 

A base resentment in the human breast 

By giving wings to birds. Man's envy drew 

Between the smallest sparrow and himself 

Comparisons, from one grudged point of view, 

Displeasing to the self-conceited elf. 

A third mistake Prometheus might have then 

Committed, and from Zeus in some weak mood 

The envied gift of wings for envious men 

Perchance obtain'd, had Man's Ingratitude 



1 88 POEMS. 

Not prematurely ended his career. 

Mortals, and mortals to a man agreed 

In censuring all attempts to interfere 

With their mortality, men first decreed 

The Abolition of the Gods : and here, 

Prometheus held their sacrilegious deed 

Was justifiable, altho' severe : 

But men no sooner from the Gods were freed, 

Than of a Titan's aid so sure they were 

Their godless freedom had no further need, 

That they forthwith proclaim'd it everywhere 

Mankind's Titanic Patron had become 

To man no more than an enormous myth ; 

The monstrous trance of dreaming Heathendom, 

Not to be any longer trusted with 

Traditional influence on the human mind. 

Thus, having fail'd to benefit the few, 

And by the ungrateful multitude malign'd, 



PROMETHEIA. 189 

A sad self-exile, seeking to eschew 

The sight of his own failure in mankind, 

Prometheus from man's fatuous world withdrew. 

But first to his lame brother he resign'd 
His slighted scepter. Epimetheus sought 
To avenge Prometheus, and rebuke men's blind 
Ingratitude for gifts that cost them nought. 
Strict penalties to granted prayers he join'd, 
And punish'd with a knowledge dearly bought 
The pride that had disdainfully declined 
Gratuitous instruction. Afterthought 
Succeeded Forethought as the Ruling Power 
Of Progress, and the Race of Man was taught 
A painful prudence by Pandora's dower 
Of ever unanticipated woes 
From wishes born. 



190 POEMS. 

The formidable place 
Of his first martyrdom Prometheus chose 
For his last refuge from a thankless race. 
There, wandering far and farther out of sight, 
Along waste ways indefinite as those 
Traced by the shadows travelling in the flight 
Of silent clouds o'er solitary snows, 
" Rash Race of Suicides ! " he mused in scorn, 
" You to your own precocious appetite 
Have fall'n a prey : your future yet unborn 
You have devour'd : and, fumbled ere unfurl'd, 
Broken is all its promise in the bud ! 
No more can I redeem you from a world 
Where Genius, bringing fire, found only mud 
YVherefrom to make an image of itself. 
Ah, what to you is left for which to live, 
To toil, to suffer ? Perishable pelf, 
Lust without love, coarse pleasures that contrive 



PROMETHEIA. 191 

Their own defeat, and joy that never stays ! 
What with those aspirations will you do, 
Which should have been as pinions to upraise 
Humanity above the Gods ? Pursue 
The trivial tenour of your thankless days 
From things desired to things possest in vain, 
But there my gifts can aid you not, I know ! 
Alas, and what will now be their worse pain, 
In whom those gifts their glowing poesies 
With aching pangs commingle ? Woe to you, 
Poor children of my frustrate enterprise ! 
Poets, can you be silent ? " 

That austere 
And somber martyr's reminiscent eye 
Survey'd the snow-ribb'd crags around him there, 
And the lost Titan murmur'd, with a sigh 
Soon frozen in their freezing atmosphere, 
" If not .... well, learn to suffer, even as I ! " 



192 POEMS. 



A SIGH. 



The Passion and the pain of yore 
Slow time hath still'd in vain, 

Since all that I can feel no more 
I yearn to feel again. 



NECROMANCY. 



Why didst thou let me deem thee lost for years, 

Youth of my heart ? And, now that I have shed 
O'er thy false grave long-since-forgotten tears, 

And put away my mourning for the dead, 
And learn'd to live without thee half content, 

What brings thee back alive, tho' in disguise ? 
For thou, with this fair stranger's beauty blent, 

Art smiling on me thro' another's eyes. 



193 



URIEL. 

(a mystery.) 



DEDICATION. 

To you, the dead and gone, bright-eyed Desires 
Whose beauty lights no more my dwindled day, 
Here, sitting lone beside forsaken fires, 
I dedicate this lay. 



I heard a Voice by night, that call'd to me 
" Uriel ! Uriel ! " 

The night was dark, and nothing could I see, 
Yet knew I by the Voice that it was She 
Whom my soul loves so well 
That when She calls Her follower I must be, 

Whether She call from Heaven or from Hell. 

o 



194 POEMS. 



2. 



Then to the Voice " What is thy will ? " said I. 
But for sole response thro* the darkness fell, 
Repeated with the same importunate cry, 
Mine own name only, " Uriel ! Uriel ! " 
I could not sleep nor rest upon my bed, 
So I rose up, and thro' the husht house pass 7 d 
With steps unlighted (for my lamp was dead) 
Out on the heath. 



That Voice flew onward fast, 
Still calling, and still onward after it 
I follow'd, far outsped : for there, beneath 
The moonless heaven, not even a marsh-fire lit 
Nights fearful sameness ; and athwart the heath, 
Not fast and free as flew the Voice that led, 
Hut halting oft, my steps went stumblingly. 



URIEL. 195 

Each footstep, as it fell, recoil'd with dread 

From what it toucht ; and, tho' I could not see, 

I felt that, where I trod, the plain was spread 

With corpses. Heap'd so thick they seem'd to be, 

That I, at every moment, fear'd to tread 

Upon a dead man's face. Yet, undeterr'd, 

My feet obey'd a will not mine, whose spell 

Their course constrain'd. For still that Voice I heard, 

And still the Voice call'd " Uriel ! Uriel ! " 



At last a livid light began to grow 

Low down in heaven. It was the moon that, pent 

Behind a slowly crumbling cloud till now, 

Athwart thin flakes of worn-out vapour sent 

A filmy gleam. And I could see thereby 

The corpses that lay litter'd on the heath. 

o 2 



196 POEMS. 

Each white up-slanted face and unshut eye 

Was staring at me with the stare of death : 

Harness'd in rusty mail from head to heel 

Was each dead body : and each dead right hand 

Grasp'd by the hilt a blade of bloodstain'd steel, 

But broken was each blade. And, while I scann'd 

Those dead men's faces, I began to feel 

A sadness which I could not understand : 

But unto me it seem'd that I had seen, 

And known, and loved them, somewhere, long ago : 

Tho' when, or where, and all that was between 

That time and this (if what perplex'd me so 

With mimic memories had indeed once been) 

I knew no longer. On this fatal plain 

Vast battle must have once been waged, so keen 

That none was spared by the relentless foe 

For unmolested burial of the slain. 



URIEL, 197 

5- 
And, as I gazed upon them, wondering why 
These unrememberable faces seem'd 
Mysteriously familiar to mine eye, 
The cloudy light that on their corselets gleam'd 
Grew clearer, and a sound began to swell 
Moaning along the heath : the swarthy sky 
Was scourged by a strong wind : the moonlight streamed, 
Flooding the land : and on the dead men fell 
Its frigid splendour. Then stark upright rose 
Each dead man, shouting " Uriel ! Uriel ! " 
And in the windy air aloft all those 
Arm'd corpses waved their shatter 'd swords. 

6. 

I cried, 
"What are ye? and what name is it you bear? 
Corpses or ghosts ? Is Life with Death allied, 



198 POEMS, 

To breed new horrors in this hideous lair 
Of Desolation ?" And they all replied 
" Thine is our name, for thine our Legions were, 
And thine would still be, if thou hadst not died. 
But corpse or ghost thou art thyself, and how 
Should we thy death survive ? It is not well 
When the dead do not know the dead, nor know 
The date of their own death-day, Uriel ! 
Our leader bold in many a fight wast thou, 
And we fought bravely. But thy foes and ours 
Were strongest. And the strife is over now, 
And we be all dead men. And those tall towers 
We built are fallen, all our banners torn, 
All our swords broken, all our strong watch fires 
Quencht, and in death have we been left forlorn 
Of sepulture, tho' sons of princely sires, 
Born to find burial fair with saints and kings, 
Where, over trophied tombs, the taper shines 



URIEL. 199 

On tablets rich with votive offerings, 

And priestly perfumes soothe memorial shrines. 

And that is why we cannot find repose 

In the bare quiet of unburied death ; 

But ever, when at night the wild wind blows 

Upon the barren bosom of this heath, 

Our dead flesh tingles, and revives, and glows 

With the brief passion of a borrow'd breath, 

Breathed by the wind : and on as the wind goes 

Go with the wind we must, where'er that be, 

A lonesome pilgrimage along the night, 

Till the wind falls again, and with it we. 

Farewell ! " 



The wild wind swept them from my sight 
Even as they spake, and all the heath was bare. 
Sighingly the wind ceased. The night was still. 



200 POEMS. 

The dead were gone. Only the moonlight there 
Upon the empty heath lay clear and chill. 
Then I remember'd long-forgotten things, 
And all my loss. I could no farther fare 
Along that haunted heath ; for my heart's strings 
Were aching, gnaw'd by an immense despair. 
Flat on the spot where last they stood I fell, 
And clutch'd the wither'd fern, as one that clings 
Fast to a grave where all he loved lies dead, 
And wept, and wept, and wept. 

" Rise Uriel," 
The Voice I knew still call'd, "and follow me ! " 
But I could only weep, so vast a well 
Of tears within me flow'd. At last I said 
" What heart or hope have I to follow thee ? 
Are not the Legions lost, that at thy call 
To mine own overthrow and theirs I led ? 
For I have seen again their faces all, 
And death was all I saw there.'' " Let them be ! " 



URIEL. 201 

The Voice replied. ' ; The dead shall live again 
When we have reach'd the goal whereto I go, 
And there shalt thou rejoin them. Nor till then 
Canst thou thyself return to life, for thou 
Thyself art also fall'n among the slain. 
But look upon me, faithless one, and know 
That I am life in death, and joy in pain, 
And light in darkness." 

8 

I look'd up, and saw, 
In glory that was not of mere moon light, 
(Glory that nll'd me with a great glad awe) 
Shining above me, Her my soul loves well, 
Like a white Angel And along the night 
Her voice still call'd me " Uriel ! Uriel ! " 
Again I folbw'd. And it seenrd that days 
And nights, and weeks, and months, and years went by, 



202 POEMS. 

As on we went by never-ending ways 
ThrcV worlds and worlds. And ever was mine eye 
Fixt on that beckoning Form with faithful gaze. 
And seasons little cared for — shine or shade, 
Or heat or cold — pursued us. Many a Spring, 
And many a Summer, many an Autumn, stay'd 
My panting path, and round me strove to fling 
Their fervid arms, and many a Winter made 
His frozen fingers meet and fiercely cling 
In lean embrace that long my course delay'd, 
And Pain and Pleasure both essay'd to wring 
My purpose from me. But still, sore afraid 
Lest I should lose my Guide by tarrying, 
Forward I press'd whenever the Voice said 
" Uriel : Uriel ! linger not ! " 

9- 

At last 

We reach'd what seem'd the end of a dead world. 



URIEL. 

Wall'd round it was by mountains bare and vast, 
And thro' them one thin perilous pathway curl'd 
Into an unknown land of ice and snow, 
Where nothing lived, nor aught was left to freeze 
But frost. There was a heap of bones below ; 
Above, a flock of vultures. Under these, 
Hard by a stream that long had ceased to flow, 
A miserable, squalid, lean old man, 
Nursing a broken harp upon his knees, 
Sat in the frozen pass. His eyes were wan, 
But full of spiteful looks. She my soul loved, 
Fair as a skyward Seraph on the wing, 
Before rne up that perilous pathway moved, 
Calling me from above, and beckoning. 
But he that sat before the pass began 
To twang his harp, which had but one shrill string 
(Whose notes like icy needles thro' me ran) 
And with a crack'd and creaking voice to sing 



204 POEMS. 

" fool, infatuated fool, forbear ! 
For yonder is the Land of Ice and Snow, 
And She is dead that beckoneth to thee there, 
And dead forever are the dead I know." 

Whilst thus that lean old man, with eyes aglare, 
Sang to his broken harp's one string below, 
The vultures scream'd above in the bleak air 
" Dead are the dead forever ! " 

10. 

" What art thou, 
Malignant wretch?" I cried. The old man said 

" I am the Ancient Porter of this Pass, 

Beyond which lies the Land of Ice and Snow. 

And all the dwellers in that land are dead, 

And dead forever are the dead I know. 

And this, my harp — I know not when, alas ! 

But all its strings were broken long ago, 



URIEL. 205 

Save one, which time makes tough. The others were 
Of sweeter tone, but this sounds more intense. 
And, for my name, some say it is Despair, 
And others say it is Experience." 

Thereat he laugh'd, and shook his sordid rags, 
And his wan eyes with sullen malice gleanvd. 
And loud again, upon the icy crags, 
In that bleak air above, the vultures scream'd. 



2o6 POEMS. 



SCORN 



Dim on its slighted altar died 

The sacred fire no victim fed : 
The god, who craved a gift denied, 
His own dread image seized instead : 
And headlong he hurl'd it the flames among, 

Thus choosing rather self-immolation 
Than a form that in vain to a faithless throng 
From his shrine appeal'd for a grudged oblation. 
The flames around it wreathed : 

The image was consumed, 
And into ashes fell. 

The god upon them breathed, 
Their fading spark relumed, 
And utter'd this oracle : — 



SCORN. 207 

2. 
" Go, dust wherein my power hath dwelt, 

Avenge on man a wrong divine, 
And the proud pain a god hath felt 
In some poor human soul enshrine ! " 
The roused ashes arose and went forth on the wind : 

The divinity hid in them, high and low 
Hovering, sought where its force might find 
Means to greaten, and grow, and glow. 
A soul it found at last, 

A great soul wrong'd by fame, 
A grandeur grown forlorn : 

Into that soul it past 
Burningly, and became 

Wrong'd Grandeur's angel, Scorn. 



208 POEMS. 



STRANGERS. 

(a rhapsody.) 



Children are born, about whose lucid brows 
The blue veins, visibly meandering, stream 
Transparent : children in w T hose wistful eyes 
Are looks like lost dumb creatures in a crowd, 
That roam, and search, and find not what they seek. 
These children are life's aliens. The wise nurse 
Shakes her head, murmuring " They will not live ! " 
A piteous prophecy, yet best for them 
The death that, pitifully premature, 
Remits the pitiless penalty of birth ; 
Letting the lost ones steal away unhurt, 
Because unnoticed, from a world not theirs. 

Strangers and star-born strayaways forlorn, 



STRANGERS. 209 

Who come so careless of the outlandish wealth 
You carry with you, dropping as you go 
Treasures beyond the reach of Orient Kings, 
What seek you here where your unvalued gifts 
Shall leave you beggars for an alms denied ? 
Earth yields not their equivalent. No field 
So profitless but some poor price it hath ; 
A spurious picture or a spavin'd horse 
May find in time their willing purchasers ; 
But never for its worth shall you exchange 
A soul's unmarketable opulence. 
And when at last, of those who (unenrich'd 
By your impovrishment) the gift forget, 
Your thirst and hunger crave a broken crust, 
A drop of water from the wayside well, 
Stripes shall correct such importunities. 

Linger not ! live not ! give not ! Hide your gifts, 
Ungiven, deeper than Remembrance digs 



210 POEMS. 

Among the haunted ruins she explores 

For riches lost. And if abrupt mischance 

Their buried store reveal, without a blush 

Disown it, for a lie may sometimes save 

A miser's life. The truth would serve as well, 

Were truth not unbelievable ; for, stored 

In coin not current here and gems unprized, 

Your treasures are worth nothing to the wretch 

They tempt to make them, by a murder, his. 

But this the assassins know not, and ill-arnrd, 

Ill-arm'd and worse than weaponless, are you ! 

To whose inefficacious grasp was given 

In solemn mockery the seraphic sword 

That only archangelic hands can hold. 

Your own have clutclvd it by the burning blade, 

And, when you wield it, 'tis yourselves you wound. 
****** 
****** 
* * * * * * 



STRANGERS. 211 

You that have Feeling, think you to have all ? 

Poor fools, and you have absolutely nought ! 

In reckonings of this world's arithmetic 

Everything else is something by itself, 

Feeling alone is nothing. Could you add 

That nothing to what counts for anything, 

Forthwith a tenfold potency perchance 

The unreckonable zero might bestow 

Upon the reckoned unit. But what boots 

A value so vicarious ? 

Yours the spell 

Whose all-transfigurating sorceries 

Convert the dust man grovels in to gold ; 

Robing the pauper royal in the pomp 

Of princely exultations, changing night 

To morning, death to life, the wilderness 

To paradise ; beatifying pain, 

Cleansing impurity, and strewing thick 

p 2 



212 rOEMS. 

The gulphs of Hell with starry gleams of Heaven. 

But use it not ! Unsanction'd miracles 

Are sentenced sins. Writ large for all to read, 

About the world's street corners Reason posts 

" Beware of the Miraculous ! " Whereto 

Prudence appends, the placard to complete, 

" Miracles are forbidden ! " Use it not, 

Your gift unblest ! Lo, Virtue's High Priest comes, 

Calls the Sanhedrim's long-phylacteried train, 

Consults the scriptured scrolls, within them finds 

No warrant for the wonders you perform, 

And them and you doth anathematise. 

Linger not ! live not ! give not ! All your gifts 

Shall turn to stones and scourges in the hands 

That crave them, and to live is to be lost. 

****** 
***** * 

***** * 



STRANGERS. 213 

Thou starry snowflake, whose still flight transforms 

The frozen crystal's constellated crown 

To an ethereal feather, seek not here, 

Celestial stranger, seek not here on earth, 

Where Purity were nameless but for thee, 

The warmth that wastes, the fervours that defile ! 

Upon our wither'd branches hang not thou 

Thy votive wreaths, nor our bleak paths invest 

With thy pale presence ! Vainly dost thou cling 

About our fasten'd casements, vainly spread 

So close beside our doors thy spotless couch. 

Behind them dwells Ingratitude. The voice 

That welcomed thine arrival will anon 

Resent thy lingering, and exclaim " Enough ! " 

Trust not the looks that smile, the lips that sigh, 

" I love thee !" For to-day those words mean "Come!" 

To-morrow " Go ! " Men's words are numberless, 

And yet in man's speech only the same word 



214 POEMS. 

Means " No ' ? to-morrow that meant " Yes " to-day. 

Linger not, live not, give not, you forlorn 
(lift-laden strangers ! With your gifts ungiven, 
And so at least undesecrated, die ! 



What fills with such invincibility 

The frail seed striving thro' the stubborn soil ? 

The sun so long one herbless spot caress'd, 

That in the darkling germ beneath it stirr'd 

A tender trouble, and that trouble seem'd 

A promise. " Can it be, the Sun himself 

Hath sought me ? He so glorious, he so great, 

And I so dark, so insignificant ! 

I tear Sun, with all the strength thy love reveal'd, 

Responding to thy summons, I am here ! " 



STRANGERS. 215 

And the rich life of granaried Lybia glows 
Revelling already in a single grain. 

Doth the Sun answer, " Little one, too much 

Thou hast responded, now respond no more " ? 

No, for throughout the illimitable heights 

And deeps of boundless Being, to attain 

It scarce suffices, at the most and best, 

To tend beyond the unattainable, 

And too much love is still not love enough. 

The Sun may set, but all his rising wrought 

To life's enraptured consciousness remains. 

The Sun disowns not, even when he deserts, 

What he put forth his fervours to evoke. 

Man's love alone its doing disavows, 

And makes denial of its dearest deed. 

****** 
****** 
****** 



216 POEMS. 

Beneath a dead bird's long-uncared-for cage, 

That hangs forgotten in the cloister'd court 

Of some lone uninhabitable house, 

From the chink'd pavement slowly creeping comes 

A thin weak stem that opens like a heart, 

And puts forth tenderly two tiny hands 

Of benediction to that cage forlorn, 

Then dies, as tho' its little life had done 

AH it was born to do. The flint-set earth 

Requites the dead bird's gift — one casual seed, 

And from her stony breast a blossom blows. 

But, pouring forth Uranian star-seed, strew 
Incipient heavens thro' all the hollowness 
Of human gratitude for gifts divine, 
And nothing from the sowing of such seed 

Shall blossom but the bitterness of death. 

****** 

****** 
****** 



STRANGERS. 217 

O that the throbbing orb of this throng'd world, 

The sun-led seasons, the revolving years, 

Day with his glory, night with all her stars, 

The present, and the future, and the past, 

And earth, and heaven, should but a bauble be ! 

The unvalued gift of an extravagant soul, 

Given undemanded, broken by a breath, 

The sport of one exorbitant desire, 

The easy spoil of one minute mischance, 

And all for nothing ! What ? the unheedful flint 

Spares room to house the blossom that requites 

A chance seed fallen from a dead bird's cage, 

And nothing, nothing, in the long long years, 

That bring to other losses soon or late 

The loss of loss remember'd, shall arise ? 

Nothing, not even a penitential tear, 

A fleeting sigh, a momentary smile, 

The benediction of a passing thought 



2i8 POEMS. 

Of pitiful remembrance — to repay 

The quite-forgotten gift of too much love ! 

****** 

****** 

****** 

All other loss comparison avails 

To lessen, and all other ills worse ill 

May mitigate. Defeated monarchs find 

Cold comfort left in Caesar's legions lost : 

The ruin'd merchant in the bankrupt State : 

The bedless beggar in the bed-rid lord. 

The sight of Niobe dries many tears, 

And by the side of open graves are graves 

Long seal'd, like old wounds cicatrised by time. 

But this is an immitigable ill, 

A lastingly incomparable loss, 

A forfeiture of refuge that exiles 

Its victim even from the lonest lodge . 



STRANGERS. 219 

Where Misery's leprous outcasts may at least 
Commiserate each other. The excess 
Of one o'erweening moment hath ursurpt 
The whole dominion of eternity ; 
Yet even the usurpation was a fraud, 
For what seem'd all was nothing ; and its dupes, 
Who mourn that moment's loss, have with it lost 
The right to say that it was ever theirs. 



Sceptic, approach and, into this abysm 
Of torment gazing, tremblingly believe ! 
Behold in Hell the soul's appalling proof 
Of her dread immortality ! What else 
Could for a moment undestroy'd endure 
The least of such annihilating pangs ? 
Transmute them into corporal sufferings. Hurl 



220 POEMS. 

Their victim from the visionary top 

Of some sky'd tower, and on its flinted base 

Shatter his crumpled carcass : if the heart 

Still beats, lay bare each lacerated nerve 

And sear with scorching steel the sensitive flesh : 

Or lift the bleeding ruins of the wretch, 

Lay them in down, bandage with cruel care 

The broken limbs, and nurse to life again 

Their swooning anguish : then from eyes that burn 

Chase slumber, and to lips that parch deny 

Release from thirst. It boots not ! Flesh and blood 

Death to his painless sanctuary takes, 

And life's material mechanism stops. 

The first pang is the last. But all these pangs 

(And add to these what worse, if worse there be, 

The torturer's teeming art hath yet devised) 

Attain not the tenth part of those endured 

Without cessation by the soul that loves, 



STRANGERS. 221 

When love is only suffering. What escape, 
What refuge, from self-torment hath the soul ? 
Or what for love is left unoverthrown 
By love's own overthrow ? 

The growth of love, 
Outgrowing the wide girdle of the world, 
Hath in itself absorb'd sun, moon, and stars, 
Life, Death, and Thought's illimitable realm, 
Leaving in Time no moment, and in Space 
No point, its omnipresence kindles not 
To palpitant incandescence — and what then ? 
A word, nay not so much, a breath unbreathed, 
A look, and all this universe of love, 
Cramm'd with the curse of Tantalus, becomes 
A pitiless infinitude of fierce 
Importunate impossibilities, 
Where nothing is but what may never be. 



POEMS. 



Fond wretch, with those insatiable eyes, 

Among the ruins of a world destroy'd 

What art thou seeking ? Its destroyer ? Look ! 

He stands before thee. iVnd thou knowst him not. 

The traitor of thy perisht universe 

Hath perisht with it. Nay, that world and he, 

Whose creature and creator was thyself, 

Save in thyself existed not. Away, 

Disown'd survivor of what never was ! 

****** if 



There is a sigh that hath no audible sound, 
And, like a ghost that hath no visible form, 
Breathing unheard thro' solitudes unseen, 



STRANGERS. 223 

Its presence haunts the Desert of the Heart. 

Fata Morgana ! Fair Enchantress, Queen 

Of all that ever-quivering quietness, 

There dost thou dreaming dwell, and there create 

Those fervid desolations of delight, 

Where dwell with thee the joys that never were ! 

And, when in darkness fades the phantom scene, 
The wizard stars that nightly trembling light 
That undiscover'd loneliness are looks 
From eyes that love no longer. All the winds 
That whisper there are breaths of broken vows 
And perjured promises. The pale mirage 
That haunts the simmering hyaline above 
Is all the work of ghosts, and its bright wastes 
Teem with fantastic specters of the swoons 
Of prostrate passions, hopes become despairs, 
And dreams of bliss unblest. In that weird sky 



224 POEMS, 

There is no peace, but a perpetual trance 

Of torturous ecstasy. Vext multitudes 

Of frantic apparitions mingle there, 

And part, and vanish, waving vaporous arms 

Of supplication — to each other lured, 

And by each other pantingly repulsed. 

The goblin picture of a passionate world 

Painted on nothingness ! And all the sands, 

Heaved by the sultry sighings of the heart 

Of this unquietable solitude, 

Are waves that everlastingly roll on 

O'er wrecks deep-sunken in a shoreless sea 

Whose bed is vast oblivion. Out of sight, 

Into that sea's abysmal bosom pour'd, 

Flow all desires unsatisfied, all pains 

Unpitied, all affections unfulfill'd, 

And sighs, and tears, and smiles misunderstood. 

There all the adventurous argosies that sail'd 



STRANGERS. 225 

In search of undiscover'd worlds, reduced 

To undiscoverable wrecks, remain. 

And there perchance, at last, no more estranged 

From all around them, since not stranger they 

Than all things else, where all things else are strange, 

In that wide strangeness unrejected rest 

The world's rejected strangers — loves unloved, 

And lives unlived, and longings unappeased. 



226 POEMS. 



ALLEGRO, ANDANTE, ADAGIO. 



i. 

A Sage had thro' the world fared far and wide : 
And what had made on him the most impression, 
Friends ask'd him : to whose question he replied 
By this confession : 

2. 

" A traveller, whom it was my chance to meet 
Departing and arriving. For this man 
Mounted upon a fiery steed and fleet 
His way began ; 

3- 
And yet more eager even than his horse 

The man himself. With whip, and spur, and cry 

So fast he urged it on its rapid course 

That by and by 



ALLEGRO, ANDANTE, ADAGIO. 



The horse, crer-ridden, on the road expired. 
To go afoot its rider was constraint ; 
But now the man, although himself untired, 
From haste refrain'd ; 

5- 

And, turning neither to the left nor right, 
He with deliberate stride began to wend 
Right onward, resolute to reach ere night 
His journey's end. 



# 



A peasant proffer'd him an ass for sale : 
That mode of travelling seem'd not to his mind : 
Scornful he scann'd the beast from head to tail — 
Twas lame and blind : 

Q 2 



228 POEMS. 

7- 
But, since no better means remain'd, he bought 
And mounted it. The ass at a snail's pace 
Jogg'd onward awkwardly, not caring aught 
Tor speed or grace : 

8. 

Yet, all ungoaded, ere the day was done 
It brought the traveller to his place of rest. 
'Twas there I met him, when the sinking sun 
Was in the west. 

9- 

Mean was the hostel, but of wide resort. 

He ask'd me how 'twas named, then sigh'd 'Already ?' 

As tho' to him the journey seem'd too short, 

The pace too steady. 



ALLEGRO, ANDANTE, ADAGIO. 229 

10. 

Whereat I marvell'd that a man who show'd 
Such haste at starting, and arrived so late, 
Should sigh to quit the sorry beast he rode, 
When reach'd the gate." 

11. 

The listeners, when this trivial tale they heard, 
Found nothing in it to impress their mind : 
For such things happen daily, they averr'd, 
To all mankind. 

12. 

" And for that reason, and because you say 
That such things happen in the common range 
Of every man's experience every day, 
I find it strange," 



230 POEMS. 

14. 

The Sage replied, " Upon his journey bound, 
That traveller started on a steed all fire 
And mettle ; yet too slow its pace he found 
For his desire ; 

IS- 

And when, no longer by his courser carried 
In headlong haste, but free to pause or stray, 
He might have sometimes turn'd aside, or tarried 
To admire the way, 

16. 

Less haste was not more leisure : the man still 
Kept the main road, nor paused to pluck a flower, 
Or snatch a solace from the wayside rill, 
The woodland bower ; 



ALLEGRO, ANDANTE, ADAGIO. 

17. 

Desiring only ere the day was done 

To reach, tho' with diminisht speed at best, 

By pertinaciously still plodding on, 

His destined rest : 



Yet when his sole means left were those combining 
The sloth and weakness of a grizzled ass, 
He found the pace too swift, and sigtfd, repining, 
' So soon ? Alas ! ' " 

19. 

" Your traveller was a fool," the listeners cried, 
" But what of that? 'Tis nothing strange or new/' 
" My traveller was a man," the Sage replied, 
" Like all of you.' ; 



232 ALLEGRO, ANDAK'TE, ADAGLO. 

20. 
" For some of you are riding," said the Sage, 
" A swift horse, your still swifter spirits spurn : 
And some an ass : some walk. Youth, Manhood, Age, 
Each in its turn, 

21. 

Are but the means that bring man, slow or fast, 
Whither he grieves to be. The slowest pace 
He finds the swiftest, as he nears at last 
His resting place. 

22. 
And only one of all the things I've seen 
More moves my wonder than this traveller's lot." 
"And what is that?" they ask'd. " Yourselves, 

I ween, 
Who wonder not." 

THE END. 



